


Strange Visitor

by Necromantic



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alien Technology, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur "Big Tits" Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Arthur Morgan has PTSD, Behavior Modification, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bottom Arthur, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), F/M, Feeding Kink, Forced Pregnancy, Gratuitous Chest Groping, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Lactation, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Memory Alteration, Mpreg, Oblivious Arthur, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Pregnancy Kink, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Charles, UFOs, Unreliable Narrator, Vomiting, Weird Biology, Wordcount: 100.000-150.000, eventual smut has become actual smut, how is that not a tag?, i guess?, just a little bit, this is basically just a National Enquirer headline, unintentional gaslighting, until it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 109,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necromantic/pseuds/Necromantic
Summary: That strange light in Hani's Bethel does more than just shine down on Arthur, and he takes away more than just a few trinkets. There are some things that cannot be explained, certain events that cannot be controlled, but life must continue on and time stops for no man.---A reimagining of that strange little UFO encounter in the game.My first fic, please be kind, and please mind the tags.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 281
Kudos: 282





	1. In His Love We Rejoice Always

**Author's Note:**

> SO, hi. First of all, I'm sorry in advance. This is not beta'd and I've never actually published a fic before. Also, the topics in this fic are very strange, and I do my best to keep everyone in character, but seeing as this is a VERY strange AU, I will have to just guess with some reactions. I will be trying to stick to the major canon events of the game as best as I can, but some things will change or not happen at all. Please give me feedback and let me know what you think! It would really help me keep this thing going.

It was night near Heartland Overflow, the sky so very clear, the air crisp and clean. Stars were bright and clear and this far out, away from any major town or city, there was no obstruction to looking at them in their full glory. Arthur loved nights like this; just him and his horse and the wide open plains, nothing making him rush or putting him on edge. The sounds of night-time animals peaceful and comforting in their familiarity. Owls, some foxes, a pack of coyotes somewhere to the west of him, not near enough to be a danger. He heard them all chitter and screech to themselves, a symphony of the wilderness that always left him feeling refreshed and alive.

He was just north of the overflow, and Emerald Ranch lay slightly further south. He had spent the last day and a half gathering herbs and various other ingredients for Hosea and some of the other gang members back in Clemens Point - something to put in Pearson’s stew to make it a bit more bearable, hopefully. But as he trotted along on his big black Shire named Beast, he caught sight of a building in the distance, one he hadn’t seen before, and like always, his curiosity was piqued. 

He saw a little dirt track that led towards the dark structure, and figured he may as well see if there was anything valuable inside. He couldn’t see a whole lot from this distance, but he could tell there were no lights, and the closer he got, he also realized there were no noises that might indicate people. Another abandoned shack, most likely, but there were sometimes some interesting items in places like that. Once or twice, he’d even found a story book for little Jack in such abandoned buildings. Maybe he’d find something similar this time too? Sadie had asked for a harmonica, and Mary-Beth was looking for a pen, maybe he’d find them here? It wasn’t much, but if he could get some little trinkets for the others, it always seemed to brighten their mood, and left him with a nice feeling afterwards.

Arthur approached the rundown little house, not bothering to tether his horse as he jumped down and headed towards the front. There was no door, by the looks of it, having either been kicked down or fallen in on itself with neglect, and so some moonlight was able to filter inside the shack, as well as through the ceiling. He looked up and saw it was in really poor shape; great big gaps between boards and some slats even having fallen into the house itself. Either way, he pulled his lantern from his side and lit it with a match struck against his boot.

And then took a step back, eyes widening. 

“Damn...”

Corpses. Close to a dozen or so, all laid out on beds and covered with blankets, with one in the front, seated at some sort of desk. The desk was covered in old, burnt out candles, and the person - whoever they had been - had something odd draped over their shoulders. But these corpses were not fresh, not by any means. No, they were all practically skeletons, only small bits of dried tissue still clinging to parts of the otherwise bleached bones. 

How long had they been here? And what had happened? He didn’t see any bloodstains on the wood or the ratty, threadbare blankets. It also didn’t look like there’d been much of a fight... Strange. Very strange. Still, he might as well look and see what they’d left behind, if anything. 

He carefully made his way around the place, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin prickle with unease. It wasn’t as if he was frightened of the dead, that was foolish. All the killing he did, no, he was much more worried about the living, but there was just something about this place that... set his teeth on edge, and he tried to make quick work of looking everything over. It almost felt like being watched... but that may just have been the dozen pairs of empty eye sockets all lined up in beds along the side of the room, not to mention the absolute dead silence of the place. For some reason, none of the outside noises made it in here, even with the walls barely standing and no door to speak of. 

He found a cigarette card, which was interesting enough, and inside the chimney there was a bottle of aged pirate rum, which was always nice to find. That stuff was strong, and worth a bit of money, too.

The only place Arthur had yet to look at closely was the table near the back where that one skeleton sat, with all those candles, and he carefully, slowly made his way over to it. He noticed a paper on the... desk? Altar? Whatever it was. He reached out and picked up the surprisingly sturdy paper, unfolding it and looking it over in the dim light from his lantern.

_At the second hour under the half moon  
By the great love and grace of our savior Kuhkowaba  
Voyager of time and galaxies  
We cast off our corporeal shells  
So his vessel can take our spirits to the promised realm  
To live in peace and power until the two thousandth year  
When we will return for the new chosen and worship once again at the peak of Mount Shann  
In his love we rejoice always_

“What the hell?” He muttered under his breath, glancing back at the skeletons all laid out in their beds, and the one seated at the front, and Arthur got the sense this was like some insane sermon, these people a mad congregation. Whatever this paper meant, Arthur suspected why there had been no sign of a struggle or any bloodstains. He was beginning to think that these people had all killed themselves to try and meet some... God? It didn’t make much sense to him, he was never a religious man, and this was a little more crazy than he was used to. Even with all of Reverend Swanson’s drug-fueled rambling, he was sure the preacher had never been quite this insane.

He tucked the paper away in his satchel, another little curiosity that wasn’t very valuable but he couldn’t bring himself to leave, and turned to make his way out of the creepy shack.

But he couldn’t move his feet. 

He tried to shift and turn but it was like his legs were trapped in ice, and anxious sweat began to bead on the back of his neck. He was stuck, somehow. His arms shook with the effort to move, even to twitch, and his lantern blew out despite no wind coming through the rotting shack. The air was still, like a tomb, and his breathing felt tight and shallow in his chest. He couldn’t move at all. His entire body was frozen. 

There was a noise, then. Some great... buzzing or rumbling that shook the thin, unsteady walls of the shack, shook Arthur down to his bones, and a terrible light. Green and too bright and for some reason so very, very hot. Arthur felt a sound leave him, but he couldn’t hear it over this noise, his body stuck and his chest so heavy, unable to breathe. Paralyzed entirely, even his lungs wouldn’t work. That light was everywhere, in his eyes, burning into his head and making him want to scream. Tears stung at his eyes, and it took everything he had in him to blink.

And then, just like that, he wasn’t in the shack anymore. He was... somewhere else. The green light was gone, replaced by an endless white; whiter even than the snowstorm in Colter. Laying down, stripped and exposed, his arms and legs seemed stuck to the surface of whatever he was on top of. Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t turn his head and look, and all he could do was gasp for air. The heat had left, as well as the tightness in his chest, but the tears in his eyes still made everything a blur.

_“Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you.”_

Those words made sense. He understood them just as he would understand anyone. But there was something so very wrong about them as well. It was like he was hearing an echo inside his own head, and his ears were trying to disagree with what his mind was telling him he was hearing. And the voice... he couldn’t pinpoint anything about it. Male or female, deep or high, any accent at all... there was nothing about it. It was just... a voice, in his head, speaking words that he knew but suspected he shouldn’t. 

He panicked, trying to struggle against whatever was holding him, trying to thrash and scream, but he couldn’t move a muscle, and only ended up giving a shaking whimper as he wept, so uncaring for his pride in this moment of absolute and utter terror.

_“Calm yourself, Arthur Morgan. We do not wish to cause you harm.”_

They knew his name? They knew his name, they knew who he was. Were they Pinkertons, government agents, bounty hunters? None of those things made sense. He couldn’t see who was speaking to him, only vague shapes and outlines at the edges of his vision, but this was definitely not like any bounty or government capture he’d ever heard of. And that voice... it terrified him. This whole situation made him feel like a rat in a trap. He was so powerless here, so out of his depth that he couldn’t even begin to understand, and he knew that they knew that, whoever they were...

He tried to open his mouth to beg, to plead for them to let him go, but his jaw was closed and he couldn’t open it, and yet somehow they seemed to react to what he’d been thinking.

_“We will not hurt you.”_ They repeated. _“You have nothing to fear. Relax, close your eyes, rest.”_

His eyelids felt so heavy all of a sudden, like they were made out of lead. Something touched his temple and he let out a small sigh, eyelashes fluttering and drooping. His breathing calmed, his body relaxed and tension left him. His muscles felt like jelly, and his eyes slipped shut after a few more moments, without any input from him. He wasn’t in control of his own body anymore, and that should have scared him further, but he was just... tired. He was so tired. Maybe he should get some rest? He didn’t have anything to worry about, did he?

_“That’s right, Arthur Morgan, you’re safe. Go to sleep, and receive us.”_

He went to sleep.


	2. Assumptions and Missing Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, first of all, thanks so much for all the kudos! It's more than I expected, honestly, and I'm really glad that people seem to like this! It really makes a difference to know that there's interest in this crazy idea lol.  
> Secondly, I don't necessarily have an update schedule in mind for this, but I want to try and stay two chapters ahead of my uploads so I have time to edit and work through my ideas without feeling pressured to produce something I'm not happy with. I'm thinking that it should take around 7-10 days on average though for me to post a new chapter, I'll try my best not to take longer than that.  
> Thank you guys, and please enjoy!

Arthur awoke with a surge of panic and a gasp caught behind his teeth, flashes of green in his eyes. He felt prepared to fight, prepared to run, and looked wildly around for the source of his fear. But there was nothing. Not a soul in sight except for him and his horse, out on the plains of New Hanover. As the seconds ticked by, the nameless fear oozed away, replaced by overwhelming confusion and a deep fatigue. What had he even been afraid of? He truly couldn’t recall... perhaps it had been a nightmare?

He rubbed at his eyes and sat up fully, groaning under his breath. His head was pounding and his stomach threatened to pitch him right back over, pain and nausea playing Hell on his balance... What the hell had happened last night? He was just sitting out in the fields, no camp and no tent, having been flat on his back like he’d passed out drunk or been dumped here. And it was strange... he didn’t really remember anything after finding the pirate rum in that old shack north of the Overflow...

Had he drank the damn thing and gotten so stewed that he really just stumbled out into a field and blacked out? He wasn’t that much of a lightweight, was he?

“Well... explains the headache...” He grumbled under his breath, cursing his past self. It also somewhat explained the gap in his memory; he did tend to overdo it once he had enough alcohol in his system, that time with Lenny was a perfect example of just not knowing when to stop.

He took another look around, wondering where he’d ended up. It was close to midday judging by the sun, and he seemed like he wasn’t so far from that strange shack, maybe a bit more East if he’d had to guess. It was curious, though, that the plains grass all around him was oddly flattened, like he’d been rolling around on the ground in nonsensical patterns. Lord, he must have made a true fool of himself last night, and he was only grateful that no one seemed to be around to have seen it.

With a grunt, he tried to stand, legs feeling weak from the throbbing in his head and the roiling in his stomach. He felt like death warmed over, but he should consider himself lucky that no one had come across him, passed out cold in the dirt, and decided to rob him or worse. Carefully, he heaved himself up onto Beast and closed his eyes as the world threatened to tilt, patting his horse’s thick neck before kicking him off towards the road to Emerald Ranch.

“Bet you kept me safe, huh?” He muttered, using his hat to shield his eyes from the worst of the sunlight, trusting that Beast knew well enough where to go. He didn’t much feel like taking in the scenery at the moment, rifling through his satchel for something to help his head or his stomach. He had some biscuits, and those should be bland enough to help settle his stomach at least. He started munching on them, not really paying attention to what he was doing, still trying to figure out what the Hell he might’ve done last night only to continue to draw a total blank.

Before he knew it, the secluded path to camp was right before him and he’d eaten through two tins of biscuits, a hunk of stale bread, and a chocolate bar. His headache had improved a bit, thankfully, but while the nausea had subsided he was left with such a strange feeling in his guts. It didn’t hurt, exactly, it was just something like pressure inside him, somewhere he couldn’t place. It was unsettling, and uncomfortable, and he felt oddly itchy when he thought about it, like there were insects trying to burrow under his skin. He also didn’t feel full or satisfied in the least from all he had eaten. Maybe he’d gone and caught himself a cold or something?

“Who’s there?” Came John’s hoarse call, and Arthur scowled to himself at having to deal with Marston first thing in the morning - or... afternoon. Either way, it wasn’t how he wanted to start things.

“Arthur.” He replied, coming through the trees to see John standing there with his rifle in hand and a shocked look on his scarred face. 

“Arthur! Where the Hell have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you!” He walked beside Beast as Arthur took him over to the hitching posts, sliding off the big horse and trying not to let himself feel cornered as John stood there. He was on edge, antsy, and he couldn’t explain why.

“What’re you talkin’ about? I weren’t gone that long, only a day, maybe two.” He huffed, John not making any sense to him. Why would they go looking for him? He’d been gone for longer stretches of time before. He wandered a lot, liked to explore and take his time when he could, and that was just accepted as normal for him at this point. He could take care of himself, and he always came back with something that made his trip worth it. But John’s next words only added to his confusion and the rising sense of wrongness that had plagued him since he’d woken up. 

“What are _you_ talking about? You’ve been gone a full week!” John eyed him with concern, taking a step forward as Arthur leaned back against his horse, not wanting the other man to get much closer. He needed a moment to process what John had said, and it only made that itching worse. His neck prickled uncomfortably and his stomach gave a sudden twisting cramp that had him gritting his teeth.

“A... week?” He asked, scowling at John, who slowly nodded. “That don’t make no sense, Marston. I was only just past the state line in New Hanover. Don’t take a week to go there and back.” He huffed, pulling an arm across his stomach as another cramp rolled through, taking his breath away. 

“What are you, drunk? It’s been a week, Morgan.” John asserted in his uniquely bull-headed way, his voice grating on Arthur’s ears. “We sent people out looking for you, but they couldn’t find you... folk was starting to get worried. Arthur, are you... okay?” The younger man asked, eyes narrowed in concern and arm lifting up as if he might want to place it on Arthur’s shoulder, but then thought better of it and let it drop. Arthur was glad for that, he didn’t feel like being touched right now and especially not by John fucking Marston.  
  
“M’fine... jus’... had a rough night, not that it’s any ‘a _your_ business.” He snapped, his patience for this conversation wearing thin, expression shifting into a deeper frown that only had a little bit to do with John’s presence and more to do with how his stomach was starting to feel like a wrung out towel. He really just wanted to lie down... was that so much to ask?

John put his hands up and gave a rough growl in response. “Fine, Jesus. We was only worried, Arthur. Dutch and Hosea wanted to know when you was back, so you’d best go talk to them before anything else.” John’s gravely tone held something other than defensiveness in it, but Arthur was too on edge, his senses fried in a way he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t really care, so he just grumbled at the other man as he waved him off, making his way slowly over to Dutch’s tent, the flaps loosely closed. He passed a few other people on the way and resolutely ignored them. 

He couldn’t exactly knock on a tent, though, so he just pulled back one of the flaps and peeked his head inside. 

“Arthur!”

“Where have you been, boy?”

They spoke nearly in unison, a burst of shock and concern. Dutch and Hosea had been marking spots on a map spread out over the table, but they looked up at him as he stepped inside, faces lined with worry and relief in equal measure. Had they really not expected him to come back? Or perhaps he really had been gone for a week? It just didn’t make sense, though. He would have known if he’d been gone that long, no matter how much he’d had to drink.

Hosea came forward and brought the younger outlaw into a firm hug, pulling him close and making Arthur tense and grunt a little bit, trying not to give in to his immediate reaction to shove the older man away. Touching felt so strange, his skin felt almost raw and very sensitive, and while he maybe wasn’t the most physically affectionate member of the gang, it wasn’t like him to shy away from people like this.

“Arthur, what happened? Where have you been? Come on, sit down for a moment. Are you alright?” Hosea spoke quickly as he shepherded him to sit on Dutch’s cot. Arthur shook his head as he sat, unsure what to really say. He felt like someone had just given him a book with half the pages ripped out, and now expected him to tell the whole story. There was something missing. First John, and now Hosea and Dutch, three people that he really wouldn’t expect to get together to play some sort of strange joke on him. Or at least, not a joke like this. What was the punch-line?

Hosea was still looking at him, concerned and surprised, as was Dutch, though his expression was muddled with anger, irritation, or something else that Arthur didn’t want to consider too much. Dutch was looking at him with a hardness in his eyes, like he’d been doing since Colter, since Blackwater, since even before that, maybe. A reservedness that he’d never really had with Arthur up until recently, or maybe he had just never noticed. Maybe it came out when Arthur made foolish mistakes or serious blunders, like he was beginning to suspect he had.

Arthur just shrugged. “I ain’t hurt, I was just in New Hanover.” He muttered, and had trouble meeting either of their eyes, dropping his head and squaring his shoulders. 

“Where in New Hanover?” Hosea asked, hand settling on Arthur’s upper arm, though if it was to steady him or keep him in place, he didn’t know. Hosea was being very gentle, but even so he could tell the man was stressed out. Stressed like he might be if Arthur vanished for a week. Hosea’s voice was a bit rougher, too, like he’d been coughing more, and the thought that Arthur might have been the cause of that just compounded on his confusion and made him feel truly awful.

“Uh, jus’ by the Overflow. I said I was goin’ that way when I left camp.” Arthur answered, and Hosea glanced at Dutch, who had narrowed his eyes, brows drawing down. 

“Yes, you did say that - a week ago. We had Charles and Javier check there just in case, but they found no sign of you.” Dutch’s voice was a little calculating, a little detached, as if he was trying to catch Arthur in a lie or get him to reveal some sort of secret. But Arthur didn’t have any lies, and the secrets, if they existed, sure weren’t known to him either.

“What’re y’all talkin’ about?” Arthur ground out, looking up slightly and clenching his hands, his temper flaring with his frayed nerves and his guilt, making his stomach twist. “That’s where I was, I don’t know what else to tell you. I went up there yesterday like I said, got some herbs like Hosea asked, and then went lookin’ around a little bit. Ain’t done nothin’ else, it can’t have been a week, it just don’t make sense!” He moved to stand, frustrated with these boggling accusations, only to grit his teeth and hunch over himself a little as Dutch and Hosea shared a look of alarm with each other. His guts were starting to play all sorts of Hell on him, feeling like they’d been tangled or pulled out only to get put back in the wrong way around.

“Arthur...” Hosea kneeled in front of him, voice calm, and Arthur felt bad enough without the added guilt of making Hosea worry. Enough that he let Hosea look over his face and press a hand to his forehead to check for fever without complaint. Let him run his fingers along his scalp, checking for lumps or bumps, probably wondering if Arthur had hit his head, which he didn’t think so, but... well, he honestly couldn’t say for sure. He did have that headache that was threatening to come back. Hosea seemed to notice how he was holding an arm around his middle, too, because he looked at it for a moment before meeting Arthur’s eyes in a way that made Arthur feel pinned to the spot.

“Arthur, did you eat or drink anything strange?” He asked, fingers on Arthur’s chin now, tilting his head this way and that as if he were a child, and even though all the touching felt like too much, made his fingers twitch and his jaw ache, he let it happen.

“No. I mean, I found some pirate rum, but... but I found that yesterday, or, the night I left, an’ I guess... I guess I drank the whole thing. Don’t know why, can’t really remember drinkin’ anything at all, but... I woke up this mornin’... afternoon, and was lyin’ in a field all by myself, so...” He shrugged a little bit, averting his eyes as Hosea let go of his chin, perhaps a little ashamed of that. He didn’t remember drinking it, didn’t remember anything really, but it was the only clue he had. It was the only piece that might connect all the others in this puzzle.

Hosea sighed and stood up, Dutch shaking his head, both mens disapproval clear on their faces.

“Arthur, honestly, _what_ were you thinking?” Dutch scolded harshly, whatever suspicion he’d had evaporating like fog in the hot sun, quickly replaced with the irritation and stress that hung over him lately. “You’re not a child, are you? Do you need a _curfew_ to keep you in line? We are out here, trying to make it through this, trying to keep our _family_ together, and you go off and spend a week doing _God_ knows what, wasting time and getting drunk! Does _any_ of this matter to you, Arthur? Do _I_ matter to you? We need you, son, and we need you at your best! If I can’t trust you to stay sober, then maybe I shouldn’t trust you to help me with any of this Braithwaite business. I need to know you can have my back. I truly expect _better_ from you, Arthur. You’ve _really_ disappointed me, son.”

The words stung, hurt like an ice pick lodged in his chest, and Arthur ducked his head again, nodding. He felt the weight of Dutch’s tone, his disappointment, heavy on his chest. He wanted to defend himself and say he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he could be trusted, that he could be relied on, but he didn’t have any proof, did he? All he had was the half remembered night he’d left, and then a blank week. 

Dutch wasn’t keeping his voice down, either, and Arthur was sure the others would be able to hear it. He’d be surprised if they weren’t all hovering outside the tent to try and listen in. He only felt more ashamed when Hosea added in,

“You need to stay away from the drink from now on, if that’s how it’s gonna be with you. You know how bad it can be for a man to lose himself to it, and you seem to have a habit of not knowing when enough’s enough.” And Arthur did know. He knew how bad it was when Hosea was drunk for a year after Bessie died. And he knew how his own father behaved when he had been in the bottle. So he didn’t put up much of a fight for that either, knowing that it was his own fault - no matter how it happened - for going on a bender like that. He didn’t want to end up like Swanson or Uncle; too messed up to be of any real use.

“I... I know. Alright. ‘M sorry.” He muttered, sounding like a kicked dog, and Dutch just sighed and turned back in his chair, apparently done with him for the moment and satisfied with the answers he’d gotten, even if he obviously wasn’t happy with them. 

“Come on.” Hosea said, helping Arthur up and leading him out of the tent and towards Arthur’s own. Several people suddenly seemed to have a lot to keep them busy, what with how they scattered away from the tent to find something to occupy themselves. No doubt they’d all heard him getting berated like a child.

He felt so confused about it all, but everything pointed to the most logical conclusion. Just because it was something he’d have thought he wouldn’t do didn’t mean he hadn’t done it. Hell, there had been times when he’d been so overcome with anger that he’d done a few things he thought he never would. But it felt wrong somehow, to just blame alcohol for the lost time, though what else could it be? John may have lied to him for a joke, but Dutch and Hosea wouldn’t. If they said it had been a week, then it had been a week.

Maybe it was just so hard to accept because of the terrible sense of disappointment he’d caused in the two men whose opinions of him mattered the most? Maybe... because he was worried this would make him more like his father? And wasn’t that thought something terrible, making a new type of shame curl in his chest along with a slow sense of horror.

“Sorry, ‘Sea. I didn’t mean to... do any ‘a that. Make you worry.” Arthur said softly as he sat down on his cot, and the older man just sighed again and nodded.

“I know Arthur. You should also apologize to Javier and Charles for making them have to go out looking for you.” Hosea looked at him for a moment longer, understanding and sympathy written over his features, which just made Arthur feel worse. God, could he truly feel any lower right now?

“Sleep the rest of this off, son. And at least for now, I think Dutch and I would feel better if you didn’t have any more adventures. What you did was irresponsible and dangerous, and we can’t afford to have you wandering off again, not right now. And I meant what I said about the alcohol, I don’t want to see you drinking anymore.” He sounded firm, and Arthur was loathe to argue with him. He was thoroughly chastised, just nodding his head as he stared at the dirt between his boots.

“I’ll stay away from drinkin’, if it’ll make you feel better.” He agreed, running his fingers through his hair, and if Hosea was surprised by the lack of complaint or argument over that, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Good to hear it. Thank you, Arthur. Now, get some rest. I’ll come and check up on you later.” Hosea gave him a little smile, though he couldn’t bear to deal with any of this any longer. He felt awful, like the scum of the Earth, felt like he’d betrayed his family for his irresponsible actions. And hadn’t he, though? He curled up on his cot as he heard Hosea leave, facing the side of the wagon and shutting his eyes.

It was difficult for him to find sleep, though, no matter how he wished to. He spent a few hours just restlessly tossing and shifting on his cot, his stomach cramping and seizing and his head occasionally aching. It came and went, and when Hosea returned to check on him, like he’d said he would, Arthur actually accepted a tonic and some food from the older man. It helped enough that he was able to finally fall asleep, and if Arthur dreamed that night of green lights and terror, of touches on his body and strange words inside his head, of a shack in the middle of nowhere that was full of nothing but death, well, it was just a dream, and he didn’t remember anything about it by the light of the next morning.


	3. Back to Normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my husband has been nice enough to agree to proof read these for me before I post them, and I'm hoping that'll prevent any terrible mistakes. Still, let me know if you see anything that needs fixing. Also, a big thank you to those who have left kudo's and reviews, it's very motivating! Also, let me know if you guys have anything you'd like to see, I'm open to some suggestions for certain aspects of this story :3
> 
> Oh, and let me know what you think about the journal entries! I like the idea of some chapters starting out with a journal entry to kind of speed things along without missing too much important details. Do you hate it or love it?

_ I can’t rightly say what happened to me that night, or what I did. A week has indeed passed. I checked the date with a newspaper, and it’s a truth that I cannot ignore. But something just sits so wrong about it all. I’m unsettled, and I can hardly describe how it sits beneath my skin and makes my skin itch, even if the aversion I had felt towards being touched seems to have eased. I cannot explain that either. _

_ If it was indeed the alcohol, it must have hit me real bad, though some part of me still can’t accept it. But Dutch believes it, as does Hosea and everyone else, and I suppose that must be good enough for it to be true. I feel ashamed, truly, if this is the case. What sort of man must I have been during that week? What sort of man am I now, for having put my family at risk with such behavior? Where did I go, and what did I do? The chance that something unspeakable may have happened during that time does not escape me, and I hope that whatever I’ve done, I did not hurt someone who did not deserve it. _

_ I can’t think I must have eaten much either, as even now I find myself unable to feel satisfied. I’ve been stuck in camp for a few days now, and any minute that I am not occupied with chores I feel a hunger in me unlike any before, as if a great hollow pit has opened up inside me and cannot be filled by anything, no matter how much I try. I’ve had to be careful to make sure I stop myself from eating through the entire supply, and I do not wish to put more pressure on Charles or anyone else to bring in more food. _

_ Charles and Javier both accepted my admittedly awful apology. I couldn’t tell them much about what happened, seeing as I don’t know, but they took it in stride with only a little bit of teasing from Javier. Charles, as usual, was gracious and kind, and being around him has helped to ease this restless anxiety I feel, as his presence usually inspires calm within me.  _

_ With nothing else for it, I reckon that the only thing I can do is try to make up for what I’ve done. I suspect that part of the reason for keeping me in camp this long has to do with Hosea wanting to keep an eye on me, and I feel rotten for making him and Dutch worry. Though I suspect that now that he knows I am unharmed, Dutch is more annoyed than anything else. For now, I’ll do what I can to behave and just hope that things right themselves with time. _

\---

The next few days, Arthur did indeed stay away from drinking, and even gave what he had to Pearson. It was partially to assure Hosea that he was done with it, like he’d promised, and partially to assure himself that there wouldn’t be any repeats of his mistake.

John kept giving him odd looks, too, which he returned with glares and scowls when he noticed them, not wanting the other man’s pity or concern or... whatever it was supposed to be. It was really grating on his nerves, not to mention how everyone else was treating him. Most of the women were being extra kind, while Ms Grimshaw was watching him like a hawk no matter what he did. More than once he’d be walking around the camp looking for something to do, and stumble upon Tilly and Mary-Beth whispering to each other, only for them to stop once he appeared and smile at him, ask him how he was doing and if he needed anything. Sean was insufferable, ribbing him near constantly about his apparent lack of ability to handle his alcohol, sometimes joined by Javier or Bill, and his temper was starting to fray at the edges because of it all. Lenny, smartly, kept his mouth shut.

He volunteered for chores that would take him out of camp, and anytime he would be granted permission to leave, it was hardly for any long period of time, and  _ then _ he had to deal with Micah’s taunting on top of everything. 

“Don’t get lost now,  _ Cowpoke _ .” What he wouldn’t give to punch Micah’s yellowed teeth right down his throat... but that wasn’t particularly conducive to being on his best behavior. 

He was just in the middle of helping Tilly pin up the laundry when Charles approached him from behind, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Arthur. I was thinking I might go hunting, would you like to come?” Arthur nearly dropped the shirt he was trying to pin up, Tilly giggling at him as he turned around and shot Charles a grateful smile.   
  
“Charles, you ain’t got any idea how badly I do.” He let out in a rush, feeling flustered and eager. A hunting trip with Charles sounded like just what he needed, and the thought of being able to spend a night or even a few days away from everyone else - in the company of Charles’ calm demeanor and the peace of the wilderness - made his chest feel a little warmer.

Charles gave a little hum in response, eyes bright, and if Arthur didn’t know any better he’d say the man was holding back a laugh. Charles met Tilly’s eyes over Arthur’s shoulder, raising a brow as if to ask if Arthur had been this excitable all day. He felt his face get a little hot, and he cleared his throat as he gestured towards Hosea, scuffing his boots in the dirt.    
  
“Alright well, I’d best go let Hosea know where I’m off to. And get some supplies. I’ll meet you by the horses?” He tried not to sound too desperately hopeful, and didn’t wait around for an answer, just made his way towards the older man who was reading at the card table.   
  
“How’re you getting on, Arthur?” He asked, slipping a finger in his book to mark his place, tone light and jovial as he looked up.   
  
“Well enough. Charles asked for my help to go huntin’, might be a few days, I just... thought I’d run it by you.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling foolish for having to ask, but Hosea only smiled a little more at that.

“Sure, son. That sounds just fine, I appreciate you checking in with me before running off.” He had a little teasing note in his voice, and Arthur just rolled his eyes. “I trust Mr Smith to keep you in line, and you’ve been working hard around camp these past few days. You’ve earned a little break.”

“Why gee, thanks.” Arthur drawled, but he felt relieved and thankful, and returned Hosea’s smile with one of his own before walking towards his tent, gathering his satchel and the bow Charles had given him, along with a quiver of arrows and a rifle. Anything else he might need was already with his saddle, which Charles had apparently taken the liberty of setting up for him. He approached the hitching posts, seeing Taima and Beast already tacked up and ready, and he thanked the man with a smile. 

“Ready to get going?” Charles asked him, swinging easily up onto Taima, as Arthur nodded and lifted himself onto the much taller Shire. Beast was eager to go, having been in camp as long as Arthur had, and the ornery stallion was already trying to break into a trot as soon as Arthur was seated. 

“I guess so!” He laughed, reining the stallion to a more manageable pace as Charles echoed a laugh and followed after him. 

It felt so good to be out on the road again that it quickly and drastically elevated his mood from the slightly sour grumbling it had been the past few days. Having Charles along with him only helped, and although the first leg of the trip was mostly silent - neither man feeling a need to talk and fill the air with chatter - Arthur was left feeling lighter than he had in days. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love everyone in camp, minus Micah of course, but it was hard to deal with them always talking or making some noise or another. The only times that were even close to quiet was the dead of night, and lately Arthur had been having trouble getting a restful night's sleep. A general feeling of unease would creep up on him as he was falling asleep, nothing alarming enough to keep him awake, but enough that he still felt tired when he woke up.

But hunting with Charles was something special. The way the man had such confidence in his actions; tracking animals and finding herbs with ease, never making too much noise or bumbling around in the dirt like Arthur did. Charles was in his element out here, truly, and Arthur felt privileged to see him like that. Not that Charles wasn’t good at practically everything he did, but there was just something so captivating about the man when it was just the two of them.

And sure enough, Charles found some tracks easily. They stopped a little ways off the road, back across the border into New Hanover and right by the Dakota River.

“See that?” He asked, pointing to some smudges in the dirt, and Arthur squinted at them for a moment before giving a slow nod. 

“Yeah... some kinda rat?” He tried to count the toes and the way they were spaced, like Charles had taught him, but it was hard to see it too well, the prints old and unclear.

Charles just nodded though. “Yeah, looks like a muskrat to me, not exactly something I’d be proud to bring back to Pearson.” He laughed, turning Taima a little bit to look further up river. “Waterways are always a good place to hunt. All animals need to drink, and something good is bound to come along. Since the weather is nice, we could just find a place to wait, see if anything shows up.” He pointed back down at the dirt. “There are some other tracks, maybe a day or so. Couple look like deer to me. What do you think?” 

“Aw, Charles, I dunno. You’re the expert here, I got no idea what I’m really doin’ anyway, when it comes to huntin’. Mostly I just stumble on things and get a lucky shot. If you think it’s deer, then I think you’re probably right.” Arthur ran his thumbnail over the thick leather of the reins, not sure he’d be much help, and honestly just enjoying listening to Charles. Most likely he was just being polite, which seemed like a very Charles thing to do. Invite Arthur along to get him out of camp for a bit, try to teach him a little bit about hunting and tracking while they were at it, make him a little less hopeless in general. But it wasn’t like Charles  _ needed _ his help out here, even if Arthur was always more than happy to come along.

“It’s all about practice, Arthur. You’re not half as bad as you think you are.” He hummed. “Why don’t you pick our waiting spot? I’ll be sure to let you know if you decide on anything truly terrible.” He breathed out a little laugh that had Arthur’s stomach tightening in that funny way it sometimes did around him.

“Well... alright, if you say so.” He mumbled, feeling a little self-conscious as he walked Beast along the shoreline until he found a little hill that was partially obscured by some trees. Hopefully good enough to keep a vantage point over the water, while keeping them hidden enough so that they didn’t scare everything off the moment it arrived. He looked to Charles as he stopped his horse, the man looking around and appraising the location for himself, before he looked back at Arthur and nodded.

“This is a good spot. We’ll be downwind here as well.” He hopped down from Taima, grabbing his rifle and a bow and slinging them across each shoulder as he moved to the edge of their waiting spot and settled down to rest his back against a tree. Arthur, for lack of anything else to do, did the same. 

They spoke quietly to each other as they watched the river below, little bits of conversation followed by easy silences, occasionally passing a cigarette back and forth. Their fingers would brush sometimes, and each time they did Arthur would feel his heart stutter in his chest like a jackrabbit. Being with Charles was nice, and he even got out his journal and sketched the view from up there, unworried that the man would try and sneak a glance or pester him about what he was doing. Charles was too respectful for that.

He snacked a little bit, offering some biscuits to Charles, who politely refused. But Arthur couldn’t help the need to eat something, that seemingly endless urge rising up in the lull of activity once more.

It was a few hours of peaceful and pleasant waiting before they caught sight of something moving in the bushes across the river. Both of them perked up at once, and watched as a small group of deer came to drink from the water.

“Come on, let’s get closer.” Charles whispered, making his way slowly and carefully down the hill, far enough away from the deer that they weren’t at risk of being seen. Without the advantage of higher ground, the animals were none the wiser as they crept closer, close enough to the waters edge that they could position behind some boulders and take better stock of their prey.

Four deer, one of them a fairly impressive buck, all standing near the shore. One had it’s head raised up, watching the surroundings, and the others had theirs bent down to drink, with the buck in the center.

“You wanna take this?” Arthur whispered, and Charles shook his head. 

“No, I want to see how much you’ve improved with that bow.” And he took a small half-step back, giving Arthur more room to draw properly. He felt a little pressured at the thought that Charles was interested in his progress with the weapon, but not in a bad way. Close to how he felt in friendly shooting competitions. 

Arthur carefully nocked an arrow and watched the small group of deer, waiting for an opening. He couldn’t hit the buck with the does all around it like that, so one of the does would have to do. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress Charles, though, not at all.

Maybe a little.

His chance came as one deer moved a little further away from the rest, and he drew back the string, keeping his eyes on the animal until he had a clear shot and releasing the arrow with the soft whoosh of rushing air brushing past his face, watching as it sunk into the creature's neck and toppled it over with a shortened cry. Dead.

He let his body relax as the other deer went fleeing through the trees, and felt Charles’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and wam.

“Doesn’t look like it suffered. Good job, Arthur.” Charles smiled at him, and Arthur had to remind himself to breathe as the praise settled in his stomach and tingled at the tips of his ears.

It was just because he respected Charles, because he was a great hunter and clearly knew so much. To be praised by the man meant a lot, at least to Arthur.

They made their way across the river to the animal, Arthur removing the arrow and taking out his knife to begin to skin and butcher the creature. While they may not have needed to break down the animal immediately if they were just headed right back to camp, spending another day out here like Arthur was hoping they might would cause a problem if the animal was still fully intact. He knew enough about hunting to know that leaving the bowels inside would speed up the rot, and in the warm spring heat it would be half-useless by the time they got it back to camp. He may or may not have known that from experience. The smell was certainly unforgettable.

Before long, they had the creature skinned and gutted, the process easier with two people and the pelt rolled up and placed over Taima’s back, their saddlebags full of the lightly salted meat and anything else they could carry and use.

Despite how much faster it went than normal, it still took awhile, and Charles looked absently up at the sky before looking at Arthur as they mounted back up. 

“We should head off and find somewhere to camp for the night.” Charles stated, and Arthur nodded in agreement. They shouldn’t camp too near the place where they’d butchered the deer, the smell of blood and the discarded organs would bring predators around sooner or later.

“Sure.” He said easily, as they turned their horses back towards the road, entering an easy trot.

They were both silent for awhile, the sky turning that beautiful purple just before night truly came, a wonderful twilight with the horizon still a burning orange.

Charles spoke up first, nearly riding side by side with Arthur. “You did really well today.”

“Uh, thanks. Only did so good ‘cus you taught me how to be less of a fool.” Arthur deflected, remembering up in Colter how Charles and him had gone hunting, both of them desperate and hungry but only one of them able to use the bow. He’d had no knowledge of how to use it then, but Charles had been patient in the face of their dire circumstances.

He remembered how Charles had been crouched just behind him, breathing in his ear and pressing against his back, holding his elbows so he could fix his aim. He remembered how he’d felt far too hot after that despite all the god-awful wind and snow, and how he’d had trouble stringing a proper sentence together on the ride back, making himself look like an utter idiot. But Charles hadn’t teased him for it. He’d only smiled, eyes lighting with... something, and told him he’d done well. 

“Be a little more sure of yourself, Arthur.” Charles said, breaking Arthur out of the memory and meeting his eyes head on. “You’re plenty capable. I only gave you the basics, you’re the one who’s improved.”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up, and he shifted in the saddle a little, scratching his chin and tilting his head so his hat covered most of his face. He wasn’t sure how to respond to such a blatant compliment, not really used to getting them. But Charles seemed so genuinely pleased with him and he didn’t want to seem contrary with false modesty, or even worse - ungrateful, so he cleared his throat a little and nodded again. 

“Thanks... I, uh, mean it, Charles.” He muttered, knowing he lacked the finer points of speech like Dutch or Hosea, but Charles seemed to understand what he meant all the same, and smiled at him. 

Arthur was sure that specific smile was one he’d only seen directed towards himself, like Charles was both privately amused and openly friendly. It gave him butterflies, another man’s smile. But that was alright, wasn’t it? Charles was respectable and kind, and honorable as far as outlaws went. He was a wonder, truly, and Arthur was glad to have him around, glad to have his trust and his company.

The way the rising moonlight shined off of Charles’ smooth, dark hair and how the shadows and highlights of the dusk accentuated his strong, sturdy features. He had such thick arms, really, and his shoulders were so broad. His legs looked powerful too, everything about Charles’ body spoke of hard, capable strength. But his face was so kind and his eyes were so intelligent and patient, and he only felt more sure of what he’d written in his journal after the man had convinced him to help those Germans. Charles was a good man. A better man than him.

“How about here?” Charles asked, pulling Taima to a stop. They were in a hidden little clearing off the road, closer to the border with Lemoyne, and night was truly falling now. Arthur hopped off Beast and grabbed his bedroll. 

“Works for me.” He said, and Charles hummed, getting his own bedroll and setting up a spot, preparing to make a small fire. 

“You hungry?” He asked, and Arthur nodded as he searched through his saddlebags. 

“Yeah.” Now that they’d once again paused in their activity, he noticed it again. He couldn’t really explain it, but it was just... there, this feeling that he needed to nourish and fuel himself. He hadn’t gained any weight that he was aware of though, so he must be using all the energy he was taking in, even stuck in camp the past few days as he had been.

He pulled out a can of peaches, some dried meat, bread, and cheese, and made his way over to where Charles had already gotten the fire going. The other man just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Didn’t you have breakfast this morning?” He asked, and Arthur just sat on his bedroll with a huff and a shrug, feeling a little frustrated by his hunger, but not too much.

“Yeah. Dunno, just been real hungry lately.” He used his knife to pop open the can of peaches, laying everything out for Charles to take however much he wanted, even if Arthur worried about there not being enough between the two of them.

Charles just seemed amused by it, if anything. “Be careful you don’t end up like Uncle.” He warned, but there was a look in his eyes that Arthur didn’t understand. Arthur didn’t understand a lot of the looks the other man gave him. Though he was just being teased, and he scoffed at that idea as he took a peach slice and sucked it into his mouth, the juice dripping down his fingers and chin. 

“I ain’t gonna end up like him, seein’ as I actually _do_ _work_ , and he don’t do nothin’ but complain.” He replied with his mouth full, licking his lips of the sweet juice and wiping his chin, not noticing the way that Charles’ eyes tracked his tongue.

“Mhm.” Was all Charles responded with, his eyes reflecting the gentle fire, becoming embers of their own in the dark shadow of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charthur >u>


	4. A Moment With The Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 300 hits?! I'm SO completely taken aback by that! I'm very happy that so many people have given my dumb story a look, and a HUGE thanks to everyone who has left kudos or comments!
> 
> Fun Fact: I write my chapters and then they go through around three or four edits, sometimes major ones, before I'm happy with them. It's why I prefer to be two chapters ahead of my posting schedule, so I have time to write out the first draft and then edit it over the course of the week.
> 
> I'm totally open to critique, suggestions, pointers, what have you!

After eating and cleaning up, Arthur and Charles sat in comfortable silence, with Charles smoking and stoking the fire, and Arthur sketching idly in his journal, occasionally taking a few drags off the cigarette when it was offered to him. He was just sort of doodling, really. Flowers he’d seen that day, the deer they’d killed, a couple little birds. Maybe a few side profiles of Charles. Maybe some of those silly little sketches of the man took up an entire page.

Arthur didn’t consider himself an artist, not really, but he could definitely appreciate the artistic potential in Charles’ handsome face. His lips, especially, looked so soft and warm, and-

“Oh, Arthur, look.” Charles spoke softly, a little bit of awe in his tone, and Arthur snapped his journal shut, ready to defend his choice of subject and why he’d been staring. But Charles wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at the sky, pointing up through the trees, to the bright stars.

Arthur tucked his journal away and looked upwards with Charles just in time to see something streak across the inky expanse, making his breath catch in his throat. 

“There’s a lot of them tonight.” Charles continued, leaning back on his hands and crossing his ankles, legs stretched out before him, watching as every couple of minutes a few flashes of white would dash through the night sky. It was beautiful, of course, and Arthur found he couldn’t look away. There were so many, Charles was right. Had he ever seen so many shooting stars before? Little lines of celestial light that cut through the black for only a moment, dazzling and bright, faster than anything and gone in a blink.

He’d seen a few meteorites around the country, one that had bent the trees away from it in a giant circle and caused a huge pit in the ground, and another, so small that it could fit in his pocket, that had torn through the roof of a house and killed the poor bastards inside. Such a tiny thing, but the speed... Faster than a bullet, fired from the Heavens like a pistol with no noise to foretell it’s coming. He wondered if there were people out there who studied stars, studied the night sky and learned the secrets it held, and who would have answers to these things. He wondered if it was even possible to learn, or if it would forever remain a mystery. 

But he didn’t need to know anything about them to appreciate how beautiful they were. The collection of stars that sat as a backdrop for the speeding streaks, so familiar with their light. He’d ridden out so many times with these same stars brightening the country around him. He almost felt like they were old friends.

Except for one. The light of it was closer to green than white and it moved so slowly - so strangely - it didn’t burn out after a second or two. It kept going in it’s slow meandering path across the sky, and Arthur felt the back of his neck prickle, the hairs standing up.

“Look at that one.” He pointed it out with a whisper, and Charles turned his eyes to track the thing along with him. It continued for a moment more, before it simply... stopped. It stopped moving completely, totally stationary in the night as shooting stars whizzed past it. Both men stared at it, unsure what they were actually seeing. There was no way a star could move and then just stop, right? Did that happen? Now Arthur wished he really did know more about stars. He glanced at Charles and saw the same bewilderment mirrored on the other man’s face. 

“What do you think that is?” Charles asked, and Arthur shrugged. 

“Dunno. Never seen anything like it before...” He muttered, feeling anxiety start to curl in his chest, and he shuffled a little closer to Charles, wide eyes locked on that strange green star just sitting in the sky. He couldn’t explain it, but that unease he’d felt after waking up in that field was creeping back in, the sky was suddenly too big, and it’s familiar dark beauty seemed almost sinister now. How endless was that darkness? How many things were out there, screaming through the endless expanse? Was anything up there  _ looking back _ ?

The green star seemed to brighten, becoming almost as luminous as the nearly full moon before it suddenly dimmed and fizzled, and vanished beyond the horizon.

“What th--?” Arthur choked, the sound getting stuck halfway out of his throat, a tremor running through his body and settling like ice in his bones. He felt like that bright light had been seared into the backs of his eyes. Like it had somehow marked him, left him changed...

“Arthur?” Charles touched his hand, which had balled into a fist by his side. Arthur jerked slightly, turning to him and watching his mouth as he spoke, trying to shake off whatever had taken hold of him. Charles had taken his hand, wrapping it fully in his own strong, gentle grasp, and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Are you alright?” Charles’ eyebrows were drawn in mild concern, and Arthur realized his chest was aching, tight with his strangled breath. He let it out slow as he could manage, and gave a stilted nod. The sense of dread released it’s hold on him as he breathed, as if it had never been there, leaving an almost jittery feeling in its wake like last time. Unlike last time, his skin didn’t itch with it, and Charles’ touch still felt welcome instead of agitating. He cleared his throat, mouth dry, and nodded again.    
  
“Yeah... Yeah ’m alright. Sorry, just... ah...” He hadn’t been able to explain the feeling the first time, and he couldn’t begin to do so now. His tensed muscles were now loose and felt too light, as if he might float away if he wasn’t careful, and the trembling that started in his shoulders had eased just as fast.

Charles didn’t say anything else for a moment, didn’t press him, just let Arthur fully collect himself. Arthur appreciated that a lot more than he could say. It was just like he’d been... frozen for a moment, and now it was just gone and he felt... well, not normal, but fine.

“Guess that star was just a bit... strange.” Arthur gave a small disarming huff of laughter, shaking his head and letting his gaze drop to their hands.

Charles was still holding his hand. Arthur felt a tiny jolt in his chest. Charles sure had a strong grip, big hands... a little rough, capable of violence but warm and somehow soft. When was the last time he had held hands with someone? He’d never held hands with Charles, of course he hadn’t, but it felt... natural. Nice. The man was running the pad of his thumb across Arthur’s knuckles, and it set butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.

“Arthur...” Charles sounded closer, and blue eyes looked up to meet brown. He was looking at Arthur like he knew what he’d been thinking, like maybe he was thinking the same. A subtle smile at the corners of his mouth, that smile that made Arthur forget about strange stars and invasive green lights, forget about anything other than just the two of them. He felt himself leaning in just a bit closer, heart starting to beat faster.   


“Arthur.” Charles spoke his name again, softer and more confident, eyes locked on his, and goosebumps prickled along his arms despite the warmth of the night. Charles was so close, he could feel the other man’s breath on his lips, sweet with the peaches they’d shared. It made his palms sweat, and his ears itched with the heat he felt gathering over his face. Charles had such warm eyes, such a deep shade of brown that they almost seemed black in the firelight. They were so close, and Arthur felt his breath stutter in his chest, gaze drawn down once more to Charles’ lips. 

An owl suddenly hooted not too far off and Arthur jerked back, removing his hand from Charles’ and putting it in his lap, turning his head away so fast his neck nearly seized up. Arthur’s heartbeat was pounding like hoofbeats in his ears and his palms were damp and shaking. He felt like he’d been caught at something, like when he’d been young and someone had noticed him picking their pocket. Charles had been closer than he could ever remember the man being. Any closer together and their lips would have touched...

The thought made the warmth he was feeling settle a bit lower in his belly, along with a brand new zing of anxiety and a splash of formless guilt. Kissing Charles...

He looked down at his lap, at his hands, shifting a little further away and fidgeting with a loose thread in the seam of his denims, unsure what to say now and unable to look up. He felt flustered, and more than a little confused with the feelings and thoughts he had running through his head. He respected Charles - admired him. He enjoyed his company and valued his friendship, treasured the time they spent together for the peace and simplicity.

But there was something else, too. Something else that was closer to the feeling he used to get around Mary. Something that made him pay special attention to the other man, noticing when he was chopping wood in camp with that stupid blue shirt half undone, sweat on his chest and dampening the outlines of his back. Not even wearing a union suit beneath it, nearly  _ bare _ ...

Obviously he respected Dutch and Hosea too. He liked spending time with the girls and with Jack, enjoyed the moments when Javier would play his guitar and the night would become something softer. When he’d been younger, he and John had been close as brothers - even if it was soured now. In one way or another, he cared deeply for almost all members of the gang, of his family, but with Charles it was all of those things and more. What did that mean?

There was nothing wrong with admiring other men... though, he’d never admired Mary, but he  _ had _ wanted to kiss her...

“Uh... ‘m probably gonna turn in for the night.” Arthur muttered eventually, voice holding an anxious wobble, looking at Charles out of the corner of his eye and finding that he was staring back up at the stars. He glanced over as Arthur spoke and gave Arthur a nod and that small quirk of his lips, like nothing strange had happened.   
  
“Sure, Arthur. I’m thinking we should head back to Lemoyne in the morning, maybe catch one of those boars I’ve seen before going back to camp.” He sounded so casual, and Arthur was left wondering if the closeness between them had been accidental, if Arthur had taken it for more than it was. Would Charles have leaned closer, would he have kissed him if Arthur hadn’t moved away? Was that something Charles wanted? Was that something  _ Arthur _ wanted?

“Sure.” He said, voice strained and awkward even to his own ears, and he rubbed the back of his neck, face hot. He was sure that even in the low light of the fire, his face was visibly flushed.   
  
“Get some sleep, Arthur.”

That sounded like a very good idea. Maybe it was cowardly, but he just nodded and moved over to his bedroll, burning with something like embarrassment and turning onto his back to stare at the stars and avoid looking at Charles. He didn’t think he could work out what had just happened in his head, not tonight. He needed to... think about this. He needed to be alone to process these particular thoughts.

He felt himself drifting off after a time. Weird stars and strange thoughts aside... Getting out of camp had been a relief, and being with Charles... Well, even if he was confused and conflicted and beginning to suspect some things about himself that he’d rather not think about right now, he’d enjoyed himself. The last hunting trip they’d gone on hadn’t ended so well, with him and Charles killing those two poachers, and the younger man needing to ride off in solitude to cool the sudden and intense anger that had flared up. 

But if the hunting was like this? Just the two of them, the animals, and wide open spaces...

He thought he’d really like that.

\---

_ Green light, the soft feeling of floating, and then a sturdy support beneath him. The green was replaced with hazy white, and he let his heavy eyes wander around the large room. He felt drowsy, weighed down in a warm and secure pressure.  _

_ “The implant has taken.” _

_ Someone was talking, but it wasn’t very important. He felt nice. He may not know where he was, but it was okay, because... _

_ “You are safe.” _

_ That’s right. It was okay because he was safe. Something was touching his stomach, a strange sensation that left him tingling all over, and he let out a soft sigh. Who was touching him, though? Did it matter? He wasn’t sure it did. _

_ “The next procedure can begin.” _

_ How many people were talking? It sounded like it was all around him and inside his head at the same time. Voices with no tone and no accent and no  _ humanity.  _ The touches on his stomach moved up to his chest, and the pressure increased. There was a sharp pinch like a needle in each of his pectorals, and he flinched slightly, brows furrowing and body tensing. Something about this wasn’t right. Where was he? What was happening? _

_ “You are safe. Do not worry. Relax.” _

_ Relax. Yeah, he should relax. The pressure built and he shifted slightly, making a small sound, but he wasn’t worried. He was relaxed. It felt strange, but he was alright with that. He had nothing to worry about, and he felt so heavy and groggy. Was he asleep? He must be dreaming. And if this was a dream, then everything was fine. _

_ The discomfort in his chest vanished, and he closed his eyes again, blocking out that blinding, blurry white and the strange looking shapes that were moving around in front of it. _

_ “Everything is proceeding optimally.” _

_ Someone laid a cold hand on his temple, and something about it was just so strange. Gloves? Was that the right number of fingers? He was just so tired, though. Whatever was happening was going well, and that soothed him further, even if the emotion felt like it didn’t really belong to him. Something outside, put inside. Given to him like air from anothers lungs. _

_ “Sleep, Arthur Morgan. We will see you again soon.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aliens return! It's not just a one time deal with them apparently, I wonder what they're doing to poor Arthur?


	5. The Progression of the Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR love to everyone who's commented over the past week! Here's the tail end of that hunting trip, and maybe a little hint or two to what those aliens did in the last chapter >u>

At first light Charles and Arthur packed up their little campsite and brushed down the horses as Arthur munched on pieces of a chocolate bar, carrying on little bits of conversation about pointless things; how the weather looked for the ride ahead, and how Beast was particularly grumpy this morning - flicking his tail and huffing through his great big nostrils. Arthur privately wondered if Beast was picking up on his mood. Not that Arthur was grumpy, but he felt somewhat heavy with the events of last night, a little restless and perhaps a bit jumpy. His body ached, but it probably just due to sleeping on the ground. He was getting a bit old for that.

Whatever had happened, or...  _ nearly _ happened by the fire, neither man brought it up. Arthur was unsure if he was even able. He needed to do some actual thinking, some reflection, and Charles was kind enough or intuitive enough to leave him to it for now.

Unless it had been accidental... or a misunderstanding. It was impossible to know without asking, but bringing it up seemed like crossing a line that he couldn’t return from, and Arthur needed to know that if he _ did _ , he wouldn’t regret it. He valued his friendship with Charles enough that the thought of ruining it by being...  _ odd _ about this... it worried him.

They mounted up and headed out, and Arthur tried his best not to think about it too much. Instead, he wondered if he could sway Charles into stopping by Rhodes before they headed back to the gang, to pick up more chocolate. The little treat wasn’t important by any means, but he suddenly had a craving for it today, and didn’t want to eat all of what he had without more to replace it. Part of him was curious why food was always on his mind or in his hand lately, what had changed? Surely he’d fed himself enough by now to replace whatever he’d forgotten to eat during that missing week. But then again, when he’d been young and starving, trying to survive off of picked pockets and nicked scraps, he’d gorged himself for weeks once Dutch and Hosea had taken him in...

But regardless of his appetite, they had some more hunting to do. 

They crossed back into Lemoyne, riding abreast down the dusty red road and keeping mostly silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Every so often he would tell Charles a few stories from way back, when the gang had just been him, John, Hosea, and Dutch. Charles seemed content to listen with little input of his own, but Arthur noted his small smiles and the occasional laugh. It made him feel... good. He didn’t have to be strange to enjoy making his friend laugh, right? Right.

As they were passing near Ringneck Creek on their way towards Mattock Pond - where Charles had last seen some boar - the man spoke up.

“You were tossing in your sleep last night.” Charles said, making Arthur look over at him. 

“Was I? Hope I didn’t bug you too much.” He muttered, wiping some sweat from his forehead. Lord, it was hot today. How could it go from pleasant to sweltering in just a few hours?

“Nah, it didn’t bother me.” Charles assured him with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t sleep anyway, figured you must have been having a strange dream.”

“Must’ve been.” He replied, absently rubbing at his chest. Now that they’d been riding for awhile, the ache he felt had mostly coalesced in his upper torso - probably from using the bow after so long - A tenderness in the muscle and especially around his nipples, and he wondered if Charles knew some way to ease the soreness, though... he wasn’t about to mention his  _ nipples _ to Charles.

“Oh, and you were mumbling nonsense.” Charles added, and Arthur gave a soft snort of laughter. 

“So bout the same as when I’m awake then.” He grinned, and Charles scoffed and shook his head, though his smile had widened just a bit. 

“Funny.” His voice was dry, but his eyes shimmered with amusement, and Arthur felt his own smile turn softer at the edges, humor mixing with fondness that he couldn’t hide.

Charles was so easy to be around, he’d thought it many times before. Reliable and genial, good where it really counted. Sure, he robbed and killed along with the rest of the gang, but not needlessly, not for fun or some distorted sense of justice or revenge. No, he did it as needed doing, like Dutch always said. It was just part of the job to him, part of survival, and Arthur could understand that completely. He himself did not  _ enjoy _ killing or beating or otherwise ruining folks’ lives... it was just part of the job. An unfortunate part, but unavoidable with the life they led. 

“What d’you think that thing was, last night? That funny star.” Arthur asked after a few moments more of easy riding, twisting in his saddle to look at Charles.

“Well, I don’t know.” Charles tilted his head as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “I’ve heard of strange lights in the sky before, but I’ve never seen one myself. If we’d been over by the marsh or the bayou, I’d have guessed it was swamp gas. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. But it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”

“Swamp gas?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. “How in the Hell does swamp gas look anythin’ like what we saw? Besides, we weren’t anywhere near the swamp.” It sounded preposterous to him, and Charles only shrugged in response.

“Like I said, I’ve only heard about it.” His tone was casual, and Arthur wondered if he’d at all been unnerved by the light, or if it had just been a curious occurrence to him.

“So, what _do_ _you_ think it was?” He asked again, having no idea himself and wanting to know what a rational and realistic man like Charles thought. Swamp gas... yeah right.

Charles was silent for a moment, before he looked at Arthur with a softly mischievous look in his eyes. “I don’t know... maybe it was a spirit.” 

Arthur blinked and then chuckled. “Well, I ain’t exactly superstitious, I don’t know if I believe in all that.” He shook his head, only to hear Charles hum. 

“Me neither.”

Arthur remembered how he’d been unsettled by  _ whatever _ it had been, but now, in the light of day, it seemed almost silly. So what if there had been an odd light in the sky? He’d seen and done plenty of things that were far more dangerous and more deserving of his fear. And if it  _ was _ some sort of spirit, or ghost, or angel for all he knew, well... that didn’t make much difference to him either way. It had happened, been one of the strangest things he’d ever seen, and that was that.

Arthur only wished his nerves would agree with his brain and settle down. He still tried to put it out of his mind as they came near Mattock Pond; no point in distracting himself with things he didn’t have an answer for. The contemplation of the psyche and the inner workings of man was more Dutch’s style, anyway. Arthur was just there to hit things.

They stopped their horses within shouting distance of the pond and dismounted, Charles going a little closer to check for tracks and Arthur staying behind. Beast snuffled into Arthur’s hair and nearly knocked his hat off, drawing a quiet laugh out of him as he pet the stallion’s neck and reached into his satchel, feeding the large creature a few sugar cubes and then sneaking one to Taima as well. He caught Charles watching him out of the corner of his eye with a quirk to his mouth, and Arthur just grinned at him and wiped his hand off on his pants.

“You’re going to spoil her.” Charles intoned flatly, raising a brow and trying to be stern.

“No I ain’t.” He fed Taima another sugar cube while staring right at Charles. “No such thing as spoilin’ a horse.”

Charles looked at him with that unaffected expression for just a second before he laughed and rolled his eyes. 

“Only you, Arthur.” He turned back to the waterside, and Arthur could feel a warmth in his face that had nothing to do with the heat of Lemoyne.

And oh, the  _ heat _ . Hunting in Lemoyne was a lot more uncomfortable than across the state line. It was hotter and muggier by far, and by the time they’d found tracks to follow, it was already closing in on noon. The sun was high and the air was thick with mosquitos and gnats and all sorts of other annoying bugs. Charles still wanted him to use the bow, so he did, however reluctantly. 

His luck was not as good this time, though, what with sweat constantly trying to drip into his eyes, making the back of his neck tickle and itch, and the soreness in his chest making it hard to concentrate. More than once they’d come across a boar or two, Arthur lined up the shot, and one thing or another had led to a complete miss. He must’ve crept up on the same boar four times by then only to shoot wide and have the thing run squealing off into the underbrush. His chest and arms were tender and aching with constantly drawing and releasing the string, his back hurt from stiffening his spine to fire, his thighs burned from crouching for so long, and Arthur was definitely  _ not _ pouting.

They continued to track - Charles remarkably patient - and Arthur had to keep pausing to rub his chest to try and soothe at least  _ one _ of his discomforts. After the last few misses, it had gotten a bit worse, and even if Charles miraculously found the animals again, Arthur held back in the shade, crouching low and setting the bow to the side. He was hot and tired and his shirt was sticking to him, and he needed both hands to try and massage his poor muscles. They felt sort of swollen too; his nipples standing up and feeling firm. They didn’t look swollen, but with everything so tender it was bound to feel that way, right?

He noticed Charles staring at him. No longer watching the boars, his eyes tracked Arthur’s hands carefully as he rubbed and kneaded into the flesh.

“Alright there, Arthur?” Charles asked, voice lower than usual, and there was a spark somewhere in Arthur’s belly that he tried to ignore.

“Uh, yeah. Just... sore from the bow, I think.” He mumbled, a little embarrassed by the way Charles kept looking at him, even if he didn’t  _ really _ mind. He should stop touching his chest, though. That was probably strange. Was he being strange? He dropped his hands.

“Ah.” Charles replied, reticent with whatever emotion was swirling and darkening his eyes. He was still staring at Arthur. He shifted closer and held out his hand, and for one brief moment Arthur thought Charles was going to grab his chest. His gut tightened in something that was far too close to anticipation to be anything else.

“Why don’t you give me the bow for now?” His deep voice rumbled in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. Oh, of course. He wanted the bow. Why had Arthur thought it would be anything else?

Feeling flustered and hot under the collar, he just nodded and handed the weapon over to the bigger man, ears prickling with embarrassment

“S-sure.” He coughed to hide the stutter, unslinging the rifle he’d had over his shoulder and turning away to check it over. His heart was suddenly going a mile a minute. This was getting out of hand. It was one thing to want to spend time around Charles, and spend time alone. It was another thing entirely to think about kissing him, to think about Charles grabbing him and touching him...

Arthur knew there were men out there who desired other men. But he’d always liked women before, Mary and Eliza and the few other nameless girls he’d spent the night with. Not a lot, but enough. Arthur couldn’t once recall feeling this type of draw, this feeling of want for another man; not to the depth of his eyes or the shine of his hair, or the strength in his arms and legs, or the deep rumbling timbre of his voice.

Did that make him...  _ funny _ , or was Charles just that special? And if he was, did that matter? Did that make him any less  _ strange _ for wanting what he wanted?

Unlikely.

Even more unlikely was Charles feeling the same way, or in any way similar about men at all. Sure, he didn’t know a lot about Charles’ romantic past, but he was sure the man had mentioned a girl or two, once or twice. But Arthur had also had a girl or two. What he felt for Charles was so similar, but still different enough that he doubted what it even meant. Did he want Charles in the way he’d wanted Mary, or was he just lonely?

The day continued on despite Arthur’s internal struggle, much the same as it always did, and eventually they had one fat boar each tied over the rump of their horses, thanks completely to Charles. The journey back to camp was short, and they really couldn’t meander when they had meat to bring back, liable to spoil if they took too long. Even if Arthur wanted the world to pause while he figured out the confusing emotions in his head, the world was not so kind as to grant him that. It was much too soon before they were back at camp, the familiar noises and smells doing little to ease Arthur’s mind. 

As he dismounted from Beast, lifting the boar and the other products of their trip off his horse and over to Pearson, Charles walked beside him carrying his own load. Arthur opened his mouth and spoke without thinking.

“Next time you go huntin’, would you mind takin’ me again?” He blurted, and bit his lip to punish his damn tongue for it. 

Charles looked at him as he dropped the boar onto the table with a heavy thud, another one of those smiles curling at his lips. 

“Sure, Arthur. I’d like that.” And he said it so casually, too. Like he had no idea the thrill that ran through Arthur at the agreement. Shit, he really  _ was _ some kind of queer, wasn’t he? There really wasn’t any other explanation. He needed to do some thinking, some figuring out, lest he make a total and complete fool of himself.

“Great.” And still, Arthur couldn’t help smiling back, standing there a moment too long, just trying to wrap his head around all of this, before he abruptly turned back towards the center of camp. “Uh, best tell Hosea I’m back, you know... um... th-thanks.” And he absolutely didn’t run away, no sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiddies
> 
> Arthur also may be having a bit of a crisis. I am writing a chapter with some Hosea Dad Time, so maybe that'll help, hmm?


	6. Lemoyne Heat

_I’m a fool_ _. I don’t know how I’ve done it, but I think I may have become more foolish with time. One would think I’d have learnt my lesson, but there is apparently no teaching me when it comes to matters of the heart._

_Mary at least made some sort of sense. She is a beautiful woman, smart and well-spoken. Any man would want her. Too high above my station for things to have ever worked between us, and I think I always knew that, but it didn’t stop the way I felt. And Eliza, well, that was another situation entirely. I didn’t love her and she didn’t love me, but we liked each other enough that I think it may have happened given enough time. It still pains me so greatly to think of her and little Isaac, but not the same pain as thinking of Mary brings me. Two different kinds of loss altogether, and like the idiot I am I have not managed to overcome either._

_And now... well now I fear I may have fallen for someone much more complicated, and with more consequences besides. I should just ignore it, pretend I do not feel the way I do and continue on with whatever life I have. It would be smarter if I did, but no one has ever accused me of being overly intelligent. Lord knows there are enough reasons to hang me without adding another, but at the same time, what is one sin in the face of so many more? I never really gave it much thought before, but killing a man and loving him share the same punishment, and I doubt them that make the laws have ever been in love. A more warped sense of justice I have never known._

_It remains unavoidable to me however, what I feel... for Charles. I’m ashamed to even write it down. Some would say I am sick, and there are certainly times when my stomach twists itself into knots. I find myself becoming nervous and tongue-tied around him, and the few words I do have dry up in my mouth and leave me gaping like a fish. I make a fool of myself whenever we speak lately, and yet he still manages to tolerate my presence somehow, which owes more to him having the patience of a saint than any redeeming qualities of my own, I’m sure. I know my eyes keep wandering, and I do not know how to make them stop. I don’t know if he’s caught me yet. I hope he has not, but I cannot seem to help it either way. The things he says and the ways he looks at me make me feel all sorts of heated at times, and I am unsure if he knows that either. He isn’t a stupid man, but he is very kind and he may simply pity me, or perhaps he is unsure how to turn me away from him. That’s one of the differences between him and Mary, I suppose. I would look at her and feel longing, I would pine for her even while I had her. And with Charles, I look and I feel_ _desire_ _, hot as the pits I am surely destined for._

_We went hunting together a few days ago, and there was a moment when I thought he might kiss me, and Lord take me but I_ _wanted_ _him to. I still want him to, if the yearning in my chest tells me anything. I don’t know if this makes me a queer or an invert or something else, but I’ve never been much good at qualifying my sins. I am still unsure if he meant to do it, or if it was simply an accident. I haven’t asked, can’t bring myself to for fear of seeming like some sort of pervert. But sitting with him and watching the stars, leaning in close and touching hands, it made my heart race. He must have done it on purpose, right? If there is any goodness I am deserving of, which I am sure there is not, it would let Charles return my feelings._

_I have never been more confused._

_It feels so sudden, but I wonder if it is or if it’s been there all along and I am just now realizing it. Back in Colter I felt something, I think. Perhaps not as strongly, or maybe there were just too many things on my mind to really notice, what with the dire straits we had all found ourselves in. And I’ve spent more time alone with Charles now than I had then, time together where I’ve learned more about the kind of man he is._

_I wonder if he’s the kind of man I want to be, or simply the kind of man I_ _want_ _. How would I know the difference? I’ve never met anyone quite like him, and for that I am almost glad. One Charles Smith is enough of a conundrum for an entire lifetime, I think I would surely die if faced with more._

_I wish there was a way for me to know what’s happening inside my own head. I really am a fool._

\---

Arthur hadn’t meant to avoid Charles, really he hadn’t. But after returning from their hunting trip and spending a day doing chores and restocking his personal supplies - including getting himself a larger stash of chocolate - Dutch had a plethora of tasks he’d been saving for Arthur specifically. And now that Arthur had apparently proven he wasn’t going to misbehave again, they’d been loaded onto his back all at once and he felt very much like an overtaxed mule. And just like any faithful ass, he grit his teeth and did as he was told.

It was tiring and tedious, but to have Dutch smile at him and pat him on the back again after each success - none of those distanced and calculated stares - made Arthur feel as if everything was back to normal. He’d missed Dutch’s trust, his approval, and having it shown to him once more eased up the last of that nervous energy he’d felt. He could finally put that missing week and it’s consequences behind him.

He had been sent on job after job with little reprieve, riding out to complete some task or duty and then getting another one as soon as he rode back in. Debts were finally collected, and even if Thomas Downes had apparently died before Arthur could get to him, his widow had assumed the debt as per the contract, and even managed to have the money for him when he went riding up to the sad little ranch. He didn’t let himself feel bad for the woman and her son, selling their house and going off to who knows where. It wasn’t his problem, and it wasn’t his fault. Downes shouldn’t have borrowed if he couldn’t afford to pay it back - _really_ shouldn’t have borrowed if he was dying. Just left a mess for his poor wife, but that mess had nothing to do with Arthur regardless of what the widow Downes may think, with all her talk of damnation and salvation, Heaven and all that. 

But Arthur didn’t get paid to chat with widows. He got paid to intimidate her and other folks like her, for money they may or may not have had, and beat them if they were unable or unwilling to pay - like it would do any good. It was sometimes easier to squeeze blood from a stone, but Arthur still managed to get each debt collected. And if he was left with the familiar rotten feeling after each debt for a little longer than he was comfortable with, well, nobody had to know.

After that, he was given a reminder from Dutch about the necessity of ingratiating himself with those two old families as much as he could, and went and delivered more letters between that Gray boy and the Braithwaite girl, which ended up with him driving a wagon for a group of suffragettes - surely an experience for his journal. He wasn’t really politically minded except to know that he disliked politics, but he supposed that women voting wasn’t a bad thing. After all, he trusted Mary-Beth and Miss Grimshaw to think a little more critically than someone like Bill or Sean. Gender didn’t make much of a difference in intelligence, as far as he was concerned. 

Then after playing the fool with Hosea and distributing some of the stolen moonshine - that of course ended in a gunfight inside the bar in Rhodes with those deranged Lemoyne Raiders - he had to steal some horses and burn down a tobacco field. All in all, the week had been terribly eventful in the usual landslide of minor disasters. It seemed that nothing could go right lately, and he wondered if it was worth it to try and find this supposed Confederate gold, or if it was all going to be a wash anyway. He still wanted to go West, and while he knew Hosea did as well, the older man seemed locked in on this con, on the idea of riches that were just ripe for the taking, and... well, Arthur just wasn’t sure what to think. They kept kicking up more dust in Lemoyne, and he didn’t like the idea of being in so close with the law here...

But he wasn’t going to do more than grunt his discomfort with the whole thing, he would still follow along as dutifully as he had done for the past twenty years. Both Dutch and Hosea seemed sure there was money to be made here, and he trusted them to see it through and make the right call. Arthur’s doubts - however small and private they may be - had no place here. Like Dutch always said, he needed to have _faith_ . Though it sometimes felt like Dutch had little faith in _him_ , and that his approval was far more conditional than it had ever been before...

Still, he couldn’t help but feel antsy about it all, and all the riding back and forth from camp had given him plenty of time to think - plenty of time to worry. First, about Charles and whatever foolish turn his heart had taken. He wasn’t sure what to do about that, and part of him hoped that those feelings would just go away on their own, even if he logically knew that wouldn’t happen. His heart had never just let him go unscathed when it latched onto someone, even if it so rarely happened and had ended so poorly the past two times. He always ended up burned by these candles he would hold, one way or another, and he was sure this time would be no different. He only hoped that he could keep it all to himself and not ruin the friendship he had with the other man during the course of his personal lunacy and inevitable heartache.

Then about the two families and how little he was sure it would pay off in the end. If they had gold like the rumors claimed, why were Dutch and Hosea so sure they could get their hands on it? As far as he could tell, while the families were certainly wealthy, it seemed like the wealth was based off of their businesses and had little to do with hidden treasure that couldn’t even be confirmed. Putting in so much time and effort because of a _rumor_ about gold seemed a lot less liable to pay off than if they’d actually been able to _confirm_ the gold even being real. He supposed that’s what they were trying to do, though. Do enough jobs with either family and someone might let slip one way or another. Beau Gray had already told him that his family had a lot of money, even if he’d also said that he personally did not, nor did he know much about the rumor of gold. Maybe that was what Dutch had planned all along. He should’ve known the man would be playing the game so deep.

And lastly - perhaps most importantly - about the bounty hunters that Trelawny had mentioned all those weeks ago when they’d met the man in Valentine. His tip about Sean had been good, had led to the Irishman’s rescue, even if super agents had seemed a little far fetched at the time. But now Arthur was wondering if they ought to take it more seriously. The massacre in Valentine, and Cornwall knowing who they were couldn’t be good, even if they’d managed to run. The Pinkertons had nearly found them in Horseshoe Overlook, after all... Would Cornwall keep chasing them? Was he the one behind these agents? When he thought about a man as rich and powerful as Cornwall, as full of greed and anger and wounded pride as he was, wanting to track them down to punish them for robbing him, well, he could only see the man getting the best available. That thought settled heavy in his gut more than any other, and it seemed his anxiety had latched onto it and refused to let it go. 

It was one morning while he was walking back from the main campfire, coffee in one hand and breakfast held in another, that Dutch called out to him from the mouth of his tent.

“Arthur. Arthur.”

Ah, of course, right on schedule. He turned towards the man, looking at him pointedly as if to dare him to interrupt his chance for food. He was groggy from sleep and hungry besides, couldn’t the man at least respect the time of morning?

“What now? You sweatin’ yet, Dutch?” He asked, shorter than he might have been otherwise. It was barely past seven, for Pete’s sake, and he’d woken from a fitful sleep only a half hour before.

Dutch just scoffed and rolled his eyes, stepping down from the wooden platform that made up the floor of his tent. “Of _course_ I’m sweating. We’re in some disease-ridden, swampy, Dixie-whistling _shithole_.”

He came up beside Arthur, who almost rolled his eyes as he made for one of the tables so he could at least eat his breakfast and drink his damned coffee before he got sent on another errand. “I meant what Trelawny said about them bounty hunters.” He huffed a little as he sat down, not even taking a moment before he put a spoonful of food into his mouth. It wasn’t _great_ , but he was just far too hungry to care about the gristle in his teeth - it was warm and it filled his achingly empty stomach, and that was more than good enough for him at the moment. 

He absently adjusted his shirt as he chewed - he didn’t know what had happened, but lately all of his shirts seemed a bit too tight across the chest. Embarrassingly, he’d popped a button on one of his older shirts the other day when he’d been stretching, and even worse was that Karen had seen. She’d made some comment about fixing it for him, and how the same thing happened to her every so often, and Arthur wasn’t so sure how he felt about that comparison. He’d been eating a lot, sure, but... it didn’t make sense to only gain weight in his chest, right? He’d have expected it in his belly first, but that was the same always...

Dutch just hummed, leaning a hip against the table. “Not sweating as such, but maybe a little... _gentle perspiration_.” He drawled, and Arthur gave a dry laugh as he sipped his coffee and then winced. Hot. “Until we know more,” Dutch continued. “Ain’t too much harm wasting good liquor on sweating.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he understood what that was supposed to mean. “So?”

“ _So_ , I think you should pay Mr Trelawny a visit and find out exactly _what_ he knows and who he spoke to.” He paused, eyeing Arthur for a moment, before gesturing past Arthur’s shoulder. “Take Charles with you.”

Arthur nearly choked on his coffee, needing to turn away to cough into his elbow as his pulse suddenly shot up. He hadn’t expected the man to be right behind him, how long had he been there? He could feel his eyes on the back of his neck, and all the thoughts and feelings he’d been considering and evaluating came jumping back to the forefront of his mind. He turned slightly to look up at Charles, who only offered him a slight nod and a small smile, and that was enough to make Arthur’s palms become damp and his stomach flip.

Dutch of course didn’t notice this, and continued on with a chuckle, a note of pride in his voice. “Oh, the sight of the pair of you would make a statue sing out its secrets.” He looked at them warmly, and Arthur managed to swallow his sudden nerves enough to speak.

“... Okay.”

Dutch just nodded and walked off, his orders given, and Arthur looked forlornly at his half-eaten breakfast before he got up, downing the rest of his coffee and burning his tongue. As if he didn’t already feel like it was too big for his mouth... but maybe this would force him to think before he spoke. God, the way he’d asked Charles for another hunting trip and then run off... the embarrassment of that had stayed with him for hours, nearly the entirety of the next day.

“Charles... I need you for some, uh, business in town. C’mon.” He scuffed his boots in the dirt, thumbs hanging in his belt loops as he looked around, anywhere but at the dark hair that shone in the sunlight like a black river, dark eyes that were so fathomless and knowing, at the lips he’d been so close to touching... 

He caught Hosea’s eye, and the man just raised an eyebrow at him, which just made him clear his throat and start towards the horses. Right, Trelawny. Charles, ever amenable, just followed right behind him.

They saddled up and headed out of camp, passing through the trees, and Arthur felt tense and clumsy with the cumbersome weight of his emotions. But when he glanced over at Charles the man seemed completely at ease. Arthur wondered how he could do that. 

“Where are we going?” Charles asked as they got on the path towards Rhodes, curiosity in his tone with none of the internal struggle that broiled in Arthur. Was Arthur the only one who’d been agonizing over the nearness that they’d shared, what it could have been or almost was?

“Ah, Dutch wants us to... have a _talk_ with Trelawny’ bout these bounty hunters who are comin’ for us.” Arthur replied, forcing his train of thought onto the task at hand. “Hopin’ he can tell us who they are, or... where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay... and you’re deputies now?” Charles sounded about as dubious of that whole affair as Arthur felt. What good could possibly come from getting so close to the lawmen of a place they hated, working side by side with the one of the families they were trying to dupe? It all just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

“Somethin’ like that.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “Soon as we laid eyes on that _fool_ of a sheriff who runs that town, I knew Dutch was gonna play him like a fiddle.” It had been too easy, really, but that was one of the things Dutch excelled at; making a fool of men who held power, who assumed that a title and a badge would keep them safe from scams and tricks. Dutch was _good_ at that, and Arthur trusted that his expertise in this area would make it all work out, he had to.

“On the run from one bunch of lawmen, working for another. Interesting.” Arthur could practically hear Charles roll his eyes.

“‘Hidin’ in plain sight’, Dutch calls it.” A little nervous laugh broke past his lips, and Charles just hummed at that. Clearly, the man didn’t think much of that idea, but Dutch wouldn’t lead them astray or put them in any unnecessary danger... even if Arthur did share Charles’ doubts about the whole thing.

Lately, it seemed Dutch had been getting a bit reckless, and Arthur was wary of this whole plan. Things hadn’t really gone right or easy since Blackwater, as if they’d inadvertently run afoul of some curse - not that Arthur believed in curses. But even if his plans hadn’t borne fruit the past few times like he’d wanted them to, Dutch still knew best, and Arthur had been with the man too long to give up on him now.

“So, spirits seem good... in the new camp, I mean.” Charles broke the short silence then, his tone a little lighter, as if he sensed the turn Arthur’s thoughts were taking and wanted to stop him before he spiraled down into one of his moods.

“We got some space between us and that mess now.” If the massacre in Valentine could be called a _mess_. “Ain’t seen no more Pinkertons for a while. There’s these bounty hunters of course, but... Dutch don’t seem too worried about it.”

“Can’t believe they’re still coming after us. We didn’t even get away with the money.” And it was true, at least. If they’d had it, they wouldn’t be down here in the first place, probably would have gone West already. Maybe California, or someplace further like _Tahiti_ , wherever the hell that was.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that.” Arthur wasn’t even sure the money was still where they’d left it either. If someone had come across the stash it would be long gone by now, and the risk was still too great to check. With bounty posters everywhere and Pinkertons crawling all over the city, only someone like Trelawny would be able to get in and look, but neither Dutch nor Arthur trusted the man enough for that.

“Of course.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure how Charles might feel about going back for the money. Micah certainly wouldn’t shut up about it, urging Dutch to go and get it every chance he got, and Bill seemed to agree with him. Of course Arthur wanted it as well - it was a _lot_ of money after all - but it wasn’t worth risking anyone’s life for. Maybe they could get it later down the road, but for now, the danger outweighed the benefit. 

They were nearing Rhodes, and the red dust kicked up by the horses was irritating Arthur’s eyes, making his squint and scowl. How anyone could live in a place like this confounded him. Bugs and dust and racists, it was enough to make him hate the place. The sooner they could move on out of here, the better.

Reaching the little group of shacks and wagons where Trelawny was staying, they dismounted the horses, walking up to the one that Arthur was fairly certain belonged to the Englishman. It looked a little rough, but...

“Reckon it’s that one, with the fire outside.” Arthur walked up the brittle looking stairs, glancing at the broken window and wondering why Trelawny hadn’t gotten it fixed. The man was known for his unnecessary opulence, and for him to stay in a place like this... well, he must be trying to lay low. 

“Let’s take a look.” Charles was right behind him, and they had barely taken a step into the place before stopping short. It was trashed, furniture upended and belongings strewn about. Maybe the heat on them was worse than Arthur had thought? Maybe he had good reason to worry about _super agents_...

“Shit, this don’t look good...” He muttered under his breath, and Charles made a small sound of agreement. 

They searched, finding scraps of paper and bits of half-eaten food, but no Trelawny. A few small splatters of blood didn’t have either of them thinking the man had simply stepped out. No, someone had taken him, and by force if the hectic look of the place was any indication. 

They saddled back up, urgency in their movements now, and started following a set of tracks that Charles had spotted outside the ramshackle house; horses. He told Arthur to take the lead, probably so he could keep one eye out for trouble and one hand on his shotgun.

“Not the kind of place I’d expect to see Trelawny stayin’ in.” Arthur commented as they rode, eyes down on the ground. They were just barely under a trot, anything more would kick up too much dust and potentially cover the trail.

“No?” Charles glanced at him briefly.

“Normally scams himself into the best hotel in town.” If Trelawny _had_ been trying to hide, trying to change up his pattern and throw someone off his tail, it seemed that he had failed. What did that mean for the rest of them? His skin itched in a way that had nothing to do with the heat and the bugs. 

“You know, when me and Javier went down with Trelawny to get Sean, after the bar fight? I swear, he talked the whole way and never actually said a damn thing.” Charles remarked, and Arthur had to laugh at that, despite his own anxiety.

“I thought you knew, that’s his special talent.” 

“Tch.”

The tracks were steady, by the looks of them. The horses hadn’t been in a hurry, which might have been a good thing. Perhaps it was unrelated to Dutch and the gang. Trelawny certainly ran scams of his own, got into his own trouble and usually managed to get out of it, and there was a chance that this was just unlucky timing. 

Or it might have been very bad. No need to rush if Trelawny was already talking, or if he was unconscious or worse. The blood in the shack hadn’t been a good sign. If it was Pinkertons that had got him, it was probably only a matter of time until they came bearing down on those at camp. Arthur felt urgency pulse in his veins.

The tracks led into the trees, to a small campsite with two men, but no horses. Arthur shared a look with his companion, and they dismounted and approached, casual and friendly. No need to cause a ruckus if these men had nothing to do with the magician’s disappearance.

“S’cuse me.” Arthur cleared his throat, stopping a few feet away from the men. There was one that sat in a chair, whittling something, and another lounging back on a bedroll beneath the lean-to. They both narrowed their eyes and tensed, clearly not intending to return Arthur’s attempt at friendliness.

“Yeah?” The one who spoke had paused in his whittling, and the other was slowly sitting up.

“Have you seen, er... we’re, uh... we’re lookin’ for our friend.” Arthur glanced around, not seeing any more blood or scuff marks in the dirt like someone had struggled. This may not be the right place. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask. 

“I don’t think he’s here.” The first man drawled, waving an arm out. Certainly, Trelawny wasn’t there, but it didn’t mean these men hadn’t seen or heard something. The tracks had led here.

“Nah... you seen’a strange sort of feller... sort of formal?” Arthur tried again, noticing the way the other man was standing now. The time for friendliness was ending, it seemed.

“Strange, sure. Formal, no.” They were both standing, and Arthur was just about to back off, try to find the tracks again, when Charles spoke up.

“He uses a cane, looks a lot like this one.” He had Trelawny’s cane in his hand, and tossed it into the dirt between the four of them. There was a beat of silence, and then Arthur balled his hands into fists and stepped forward, donning the skin of the violent and dangerous enforcer as easily as changing his shirt.

“Alright you two... Where the Hell is he?” His voice raised into a threatening growl, and the two men - bounty hunters - responded by raising their hackles and squaring up.

“You both better get outta here!” One shouted, shoving Charles back, and Arthur decided he’d played nice long enough. The other one, the one he’d been talking to, came for him with a swing. Arthur blocked it, used the moment of surprise to land a punch of his own on the man’s jaw. 

Arthur could hit hard and fast, fist fights and brawls were something of a specialty to him, and it was easy to get the upper hand. This bounty hunter was probably used to dealing with men like Trelawny, soft and scrawny and no good in a fight, and his reactions were too slow to block more than one of Arthur’s swings. He knocked him out with hardly any trouble, sending him to the dirt and spitting on him for the trouble, before he turned to see how Charles was doing.

Charles had his opponent pinned to the ground with a boot to his neck, making him gag and choke, struggling uselessly against Charles’ considerable strength.

“You stay there.” He growled lowly, his own fight having been easier than Arthur’s.

It was... certainly a sight to see. A sight that made Arthur’s blood pound a little harder in his ears. He came over and Charles moved away, letting him take over and do what he did best; beat people until they gave him what he was after.

He straddled the man, sitting on his legs and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, fist poised to strike in a clear and menacing threat.

“Where’s Trewlany?” He snarled, giving the man a shake.

“I don’t know anything!” He lied, hands raised in defense or surrender, it didn’t matter. Arthur hit him. A firm backhand across the mouth, splitting the man’s lip and getting blood on Arthur’s sleeve.

“Tell me where he is.” He warned, voice going lower as adrenaline pumped through him. Part of him hated when they refused to just tell him, made him get violent and wasted his time. Another part of him loved it, the chance to get out any anger or aggression he’d been carrying, the offer of a victim who more or less deserved it. He didn’t like to hurt innocent people, but bounty hunters were far from innocent, and far more satisfying to hurt.

Arthur hit him again, punching him square in the face and listening to the satisfying crunch of his nose beneath his fist, blood pouring down the man’s chin as he cried out.

“Okay, okay, for Christ’s sake!” The man begged, voice pitched and warbling. Arthur didn’t let go, but he lowered his fist a little bit, his glare boring into the man beneath him as his struggles waned. “They took him to a cabin, over by the cornfields!”

“Which cornfields?”

“Left... down the path there... by Braithwaite Manor!” He was practically crying now, pathetic and hardly worth all the trouble he’d caused. Were _these_ the super agents? Dutch was probably right not to worry, if that was the case.

Arthur punched him once more, just because he could. And again, and again. The man had given him what he wanted, and now he was a liability. Arthur couldn’t let him walk away, and perhaps he was now more angry than scared, angry that he’d even been scared in the first place. He hit him until the man was choking on his teeth, and Arthur shoved his head to the ground in one final movement. Out cold, and that was what mattered. 

“Alright, that should do it.” Charles’ voice was to his right, and he turned to look, seeing the man leaning back against a tree and casually smoking a cigarette as if nothing was amiss, nothing was at all strange about seeing Arthur with his fists bruised and bloodied, having savagely beaten the man to pulp.

The look he was giving Arthur had all the heat that had gathered in his body from the rush of the fight very suddenly traveling south. Arthur got off the unconscious man and adjusted his gun belt, blood pounding in his ears and chest tight with breathlessness. He had blood on his fists, on his sleeves, and he felt the drying itch of it over his face. But Charles was just looking at him with the same dark look in his eyes that had been there that night by the fire. As if he liked what he saw.

Arthur was staring right back. He felt trapped in those eyes, pinned to the spot, like a deer in the headlamp of a train. Charles straightened, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his heel like he’d done to the bounty hunters neck. Arthur felt his breath hitch like that boot was against _his_ throat.

Lord above, it must be the Lemoyne heat getting to him. Why on Earth would that be so... _attractive_?

Wordlessly, Charles walked right up to him, licking his thumb and reaching forward to drag it over Arthur’s cheek in a move that caused him to nearly stumble back, eyes widening. But Charles only smiled - more of a smirk really - before turning back around and hopping up onto Taima.

Arthur was speechless, stunned stupid, and needed a moment before his brain would respond. Charles had just... he’d... well, he’d made Arthur’s knees feel weak and his heartbeat race is what he’d done. He had to adjust his belt again, so beyond flustered and off-kilter. His belly felt too warm and he was highly aware of how tight his pants felt, of how his hands shook as he tried to wipe the blood from his knuckles. A hot blush covered his cheeks as he got into his own saddle, wordlessly kicking Beast off towards the cornfields and unable to look up as he heard Taima following right behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scene! Or, sort of. I did my best lol. Things between Arthur and Charles seem to be ramping up though, eh? it's a bit of a longer chapter than some others, and I'm trying to get more content in each chapter, but I sometimes feel like I don't want them to go on too long and become redundant or boring or something. Let me know what you guys think about the chapter length! Do you prefer shorter chapters or longer ones?
> 
> Next chapter things get a lil steamy >u>
> 
> p.s. my chapter names are all made up off the cuff lol and I always feel like they suck


	7. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Over 1000 hits and 100 kudos?! I'm so absolutely thrilled, and I'm so thankful and grateful to you all! Thank you guys so much for being interested in my dumb story, it means a lot to me, and it gives me motivation to not only finish this story, but also maybe do some of the other many dumb ideas I have. Thank you guys and happy holidays!

Arthur had nearly died in that field.

He was sure the man had been through plenty of near-death experiences before, but Charles hadn’t been there to witness them. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Arthur with a rope around his neck, choking and gasping and struggling, helpless to free himself with his face turning red and his lips turning blue. It was too similar to the fate that awaited them all if they weren’t careful. Charles was aware of that fate, knew it lurked in the shadow of every job, but seeing the mimicry of a hanging, a near lynching, had been too much.

How he’d managed to stay calm in that moment, managed to hit that bounty hunter in the neck with his knife when his hands felt like they were shaking, he didn’t know. Perhaps it had been that narrowing rush of anger in his body as the fool had tried to _bribe_ him for Arthur’s life. Either way, he was glad for it. He’d killed the man, loosening the rope around Arthur’s neck and rubbing the raw skin of his throat as Arthur had taken great heaving gasps of air, shaking and coughing.

It had come upon him so suddenly then, the urge to kiss him, to soothe him and comfort him, and to assure himself that Arthur was alright. And if they hadn’t been shot at nearly a minute later he would have. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t walked up on Arthur and that bounty hunter, what might have happened if Charles hadn’t heard the barest hint of a struggle and gone to check it out. He hadn’t seen Arthur get taken down, hadn’t heard him cry out, and it was only luck or chance that all the man had was a bruise and a sore throat. Charles might’ve been overreacting, but he’d been so _afraid_ in that moment. 

Well, it was fine now, in the past, and they’d even gotten Trelawny back to camp with them. A little beat up but no worse for wear. Arthur had immediately been set upon by Hosea, of course, the older man mothering Arthur and making him some tea that he said would soothe his throat, and Arthur had only barely resisted, which told of how shaken he must have been by the experience as well. He had wanted to try and comfort the outlaw, but he wasn’t sure how it would have been received, nor if he should have tried with so many other people around.

After doing some chores and grabbing himself some dinner, Charles had volunteered to take the night watch, to give himself a little time to think in the quiet darkness that surrounded the camp. With just the frogs croaking their nighttime symphony and the owls and chattering amongst themselves, the night was peaceful and calm, and the light from the campfires barely reached him where he was.

He’d learned a lot about Arthur the past six months, most of it since Colter, and who he had first seen as a dumb, vicious attack dog who had plenty of bite to go with his bark he now knew to be surprisingly thoughtful. A man who wore the mask of a brute when he needed to, but would shed it when it was no longer necessary. Someone who could break a man's nose without flinching, and then could turn around and pat little Jack Marston on the head with those same hands. Gentle juxtaposed with fierce, quiet and soft when he didn’t have to be that snarling dog. He wasn’t above helping the women with their chores if they asked him, seemed to be easily angered by displays of racism and was far less tolerant of it than most white men Charles had met, and was almost blindly loyal to Dutch and the gang. But he cared, that was obvious, about the family that this gang was. He worried about them all.

And if what Charles had seen of him lately was true, Arthur was also... shy. When it was just the two of them, he’d seen past the bluster of Arthur’s position in the gang to the man he thought might truly live beneath it. A softer man who sketched in his journal and wrote down his thoughts, keeping it’s pages private. A man who enjoyed the solitude and wonder of nature, and who spoiled his horse rotten with treats and attention.

A man who, unless Charles was mistaken, was easily flustered by holding his hand or touching his face. Oh, the way he’d blushed when Charles had brushed a thumb across his cheek, it couldn’t really be anything else, could it? And Charles had gotten a very good idea of Arthur’s feelings for him on that hunting trip, leaning so close together, Arthur’s expression so sweet and vulnerable... watching the stars together on that peaceful night, it had made something warm settle behind his ribs, urging him to reach out and connect with Arthur.

But Arthur had gotten startled, and had obviously been dealing with the crisis of his attraction since then, so Charles had let him have some space to figure it out. Charles wasn’t confused. He’d had encounters with men and women both, but Arthur clearly needed to do some thinking. It wouldn’t have been right to force the man towards one conclusion or another, that was something he needed to figure out on his own, so as much as Charles wanted to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair and kiss the man senseless, he resolved himself to being patient and waiting.

Or he had, anyway. But seeing Arthur in such a dire position, his life at risk in such an immediate way, had changed Charles’ mind. This life was dangerous, death or capture around every corner, and Charles didn’t want to wait around and lose whatever chance he might have. If he displayed his feelings for Arthur and was rejected, at the very least he wouldn’t be left wondering _what if?_ Even if it would hurt and potentially strain their friendship, he felt the risk was worth it.

Because he’d grown to care for Arthur, and that day hunting on the plains with the bison, all those weeks ago, had cemented that in his mind. Arthur had been so respectful and careful, listening to his stories not with any stiff politeness born of obligation, but an actual interest in what Charles had to say, what he was sharing about his mother and her people. He was sometimes clumsy in conversation, sure, but that was rather endearing. Coupled with the readiness with which he’d choked the life out of that poacher, that was the day that Charles had known how he’d felt about the older outlaw. He’d needed to take some time for himself to clear his head, but what he was left with once the haze of anger and hurt had faded was the thought _I can trust him_. And wasn’t that so very rare and valuable? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him, and he turned over his shoulder to see Arthur standing there in the dim light, a few feet away, thumbs in his belt loops and eyes glancing around as if to check that they were truly alone.

“Evening, Arthur.” Charles leaned his shoulder against a tree, setting the rifle down by his leg as he watched the man take a few steps closer. Arthur seemed to struggle to meet his eyes, fidgeting with his belt and shuffling his boots in the dirt. He had his head tipped down just enough for his hat to cover his face. Cute.

“Hey Charles.” The outlaw rasped, and then paused to clear his throat. Charles frowned slightly at the roughness of Arthur’s voice and the audible strain with which he spoke. Better than when he’d first gotten back to camp, but still not normal. Damned bounty hunters.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, concern in his tone, speaking softly so as not to spook the tender nerves that Arthur was showing him. He didn’t know what Arthur had come to speak to him about, but he was clearly a little anxious about it, with how he kept fidgeting in that subtle way of his.

Arthur glanced up and away, shrugging a little. “Oh, uh, ‘m fine. Hurts a bit, but Hosea gave me some tea, so...” He shrugged again, glancing back towards camp one more time before he turned his head up to meet Charles’ eyes. “I... I actually wanted to... thank you. For... you know, savin’ my life.” Arthur gave a gruff little laugh that was more like a cough, rubbing a hand down his arm in a move that was just so blatantly bashful, and Charles felt his chest bubble with warmth as he watched him. Arthur stepped closer, standing only a foot away from Charles, close enough that he could see the angry looking bruise around his throat, and Charles’ fingers itched to reach out and stroke the damaged skin. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Arthur who took it gratefully. 

They smoked in silence for a little while, the sounds of camp muted by the darkness and the trees, Arthur looking off towards the lake and Charles looking at Arthur. The little freckles on his sun-warmed face, the scar on his chin where facial hair didn’t grow, all the little details that he couldn’t see in the dim light but had seen before and committed to his memory, could imagine as if they were bathed in the private light of a little campfire, just the two of them.

“You don’t have to thank me. I know you would have done the same for me.” Charles eventually said, blowing smoke into the breeze, and Arthur turned back to him, looking him in the eyes a little more easily this time. Charles noticed the length of his eyelashes and the almost startlingly clear blue of his eyes, like crystal clear lake water, almost shimmering when the sun played off it’s calm surface. He knew those eyes could turn stormy and dangerous, could become whipped into a frenzy and narrow in on threats with a deadly accuracy. It was sometimes unsettling how good of a shot Arthur could be, if only in terms of what it would mean if Arthur ever decided to turn his gun on Charles. But he knew, without having to really even think about it, that Arthur never would. _I trust him_.

“But I wanted to.” Arthur’s voice was steady despite the damage to it, and he might’ve been unsure about a few things, but not about this, it seemed. “It was... a close call, and I jus’ wanted to let you know that I... I appreciate it.” He seemed so earnest that Charles couldn’t brush it off and tell him it wasn’t a big deal. They both knew that it was. Charles felt the residual fear still trickling down the back of his neck, how if he’d been a moment or two later there would have been nothing he could do to save Arthur, how he’d only have found his corpse.

He dropped his spent cigarette and crushed it into the dirt, watching as Arthur flicked his own away. They both stood there for a moment, saying nothing, before Charles straightened up and reached out, giving in to his urge to touch the man. He was alive.

Arthur flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away as Charles ran his fingertips across Arthur’s throat, gentle and caring. He saw Arthur’s eyes widen and his face go red in the darkness, and it made him smile just a bit. He might never say it to his face, since he didn’t want to get punched, but Arthur was just so cute. The way he walked and how he spoke with that exaggerated drawl, the length at which he liked to keep his hair and how it made the strands curl just a bit at the ends. How flustered he became when anyone was nice to him, more so when it was Charles, it seemed. There was no doubt, was there? Unless he was terribly mistaken... Charles was not alone in feeling the way he did, and even if Arthur wasn’t so sure about what those feelings meant, as Charles suspected he might be, maybe all Arthur needed was some... clear direction?

There was no one around, just the two of them, and even if the flickering campfire light could be seen through the trees, he doubted anyone would be able to see them.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” His voice was soft in a near whisper, and he let his hand drift lower, stroking over the top of Arthur’s collarbone. The man seemed to shudder, frozen in place as his lips parted and he tried to say something in response. 

Charles didn’t let him, grabbing him by his suspenders and pulling him in, pressing his lips against the outlaws and bringing his other hand up to hold the back of his head, knocking his hat to the ground. It barely took a second of rigid shock, and then Arthur was responding, kissing him right back and holding the front of Charles’ shirt, pulling them flush as their mouths slid against each other, hot and frenzied, tongues and teeth and sudden, intense heat.

He pressed Arthur back against a tree, his hands traveling down to hold him by his hips and keep him right where he wanted him. His lips moved, leaving a path of open mouthed kisses and hot, damp breaths down Arthur’s neck, to the raw skin of his throat where he trailed his tongue over the tender flesh. He could hear Arthur make a strangled noise, could feel the way he shivered and how his breathing hitched. Charles felt triumph and delight settle hot in his belly at the way Arthur slowly tilted his head to the side, offering more, and Charles took his victory by nipping gently beneath his jaw, sucking on the skin there, and by God if Arthur didn’t _moan_. Soft and breathless, quiet, but a heady sound that couldn’t be mistaken.

Charles thought he could get addicted to hearing Arthur make noises like that.

He slid his hands back up the man's body, grabbing a handful of Arthur’s chest and squeezing in the way he’d been wanting to do ever since Arthur had shamelessly groped himself right in front of him. Christ, if Arthur hadn’t been so damn clueless he would have thought the man was doing it on purpose. Charles had been stunned when he’d seen the man do it, almost losing his cool and pushing Arthur to the ground, hunting forgotten. How he’d wanted to pin him down and grab him, rip his shirt open and touch him. He’d never really paid attention to another man’s chest before, wasn’t sure if it would feel good for Arthur like it might for a woman, but with how Arthur gasped and tangled his fingers in Charles’ hair, it definitely seemed to be appreciated.

“Ch-Charles, Jesus...” Arthur breathed, and Charles licked back up his neck and jaw and crushed their lips together once more, stealing whatever words Arthur had been about to say by slipping his tongue into his mouth. Arthur tasted like tobacco and a little bit of whiskey, and he absently wondered if the man had needed some courage before approaching him. The thought of Arthur nervously taking a swig of whiskey, twisting the bottle in his hands or constantly adjusting his hat to work up the nerve to walk over to Charles was just too cute.

He squeezed and rubbed Arthur’s muscular, full chest, flicking his thumbs over his nipples and humming in satisfaction at the way Arthur’s hips twitched, at how he could feel Arthur’s nipples harden beneath the shirt, standing firm and eager. Without a thought he pinched them through the material, rolling them between his fingers, and Arthur _whined_ into the kiss, legs shaking and hands tightening in Charles’ hair.

“Like it?” He pulled away just enough to whisper against Arthur’s mouth, hot and wet, and Arthur nodded dumbly, panting and flushed. Charles pinched harder, and Arthur bit his lip to stifle the noises that were crawling up his throat. He looked so sweet, Charles wanted to absolutely ravish him. He wanted to see Arthur spread out beneath him, naked and flushed and eager, wanted to have the man sit on his lap with his thighs open, like how he’d straddled that bounty hunter. God, Charles hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of Arthur, the way his jeans had pulled tight against the curve of his ass and hugged his thick thighs, how he’d seen a few of the buttons at the top of his shirt straining when he pulled his fist back. But... he was getting a little ahead of himself. They weren’t _that_ far from camp, and the things he wanted to do... he wanted a lot more privacy for.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, petting gently over Arthur’s cheek while looking over his face, his rough breaths mingling with Arthur’s in the space between their lips.

“Was that alright?” He asked, and it took Arthur a moment before he nodded again, licking the last taste of Charles from his lips in a way that made Charles want to dive right back in and claim that sweet tongue once more.

“Y-yeah...” Arthur croaked, a little dazed, and Charles was pleased to note that the roughness of his voice sounded husky and low, more to do with being kissed stupid than the damage to his throat. There was a moment between them, and Charles ran his hands over Arthur’s chest once more, pressing his fingers gently into the muscle there, before he let them drop.

“Would you mind if we... did this again?” Charles ventured, and Arthur seemed to snap back to himself just a little, nodding quickly and almost stumbling over his words.

“ _Yes_ \- I mean-... N-no... wh- ah... I-I wouldn’t mind.” He stammered, and Charles leaned back, giving the man some room to breathe and smiling softly at him. Arthur was really so very charming without even trying to be. 

“I’ll make sure to take you hunting again soon, then, like you asked.” And Arthur understood the hidden promise in Charles’ deep tone, clearly, with how he was suddenly unable to meet his eyes again, face bright pink in the low evening light.

“S-sure... yeah I’d, uh... think I’d like that. Um.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Charles and then back towards camp, gesturing weakly in that direction. “I gotta... ah... I...” Another little cough and Charles took pity on him. He leaned down and picked the man’s hat up off the ground, setting it on Arthur’s head and stroking along his cheek one more time, letting his thumb slide across his bottom lip in a promise of more, a tender gesture that had Arthur parting his lips just a little, and Charles had to stop himself from sliding his finger into the man’s waiting mouth.

“Goodnight Arthur.” He whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to the man’s cheek before he pulled away entirely. The man just nodded and stuttered out a goodbye, beating a retreat back to his tent. 

He turned back to the surrounding night, picking the rifle up from where he’d leant it against the tree, and Charles wasn’t worried about Arthur not returning his feelings anymore, at the very least.

\---

~~_Went and found Trelawny today, and_ ~~

~~_Dutch asked me and Charles to go looking_ ~~

_Charles kissed me._

_I’ve never felt like this. He left me so hot and bothered with the way he touched me, got me more riled than I’ve been in years. Had to sneak away to deal with myself, embarrassing as it was, but I couldn’t rightly walk around camp like_ _that._

 _God, he kissed me. I can hardly wrap my head around it, feel giddy and dumb whenever I think about it. I don’t care anymore that this makes me an invert beyond any shadow of doubt, even if it’s something I shall be keeping to myself. Kissing Mary had made my heart race, but kissing Charles has left me with a fire inside myself that only grows hotter the more I think of him. His lips were so soft and warm and he put his tongue in my mouth and I_ _tasted_ _him, and the way he felt at my chest had my knees going weak, had me about ready to damn near shoot off in my britches._

 _He told me he’d take me hunting again, and I can only imagine the types of things we could do together. Only... it leaves me wondering what types of things two men_ can _do together. I think I know the main idea, but I have no experience with this sort of thing, and I don’t know anyone who does. If Charles were a woman I’m sure Dutch would be happy to give me some advice, not that I’d ever ask him for it. Charles might know, of course. He might’ve done this sort of thing with a man before. I don’t know, and I don’t know if I have the courage to ask. All I know is I want it. Lord help me, but I do._

_He saved my life in that damned cornfield, has probably saved my life before with all the gunfights we’ve been in together, and I just felt the need to thank him and let him know that I... appreciated it, I guess. Seems a strange thing to do, looking back on it. But then he kissed me, and I can hardly regret any strangeness I may have done that led me to that moment._

_I’m a fool, surely, but I don’t care as long as Charles is a fool with me._

_A+C_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Slightly smutty, not quite as much as it's going to be, but it's a taste. I wanted to try something from Charles' perspective before we got too far, because I love Charles and I wanted to show what he's been thinking and feeling about the whole thing. Let me know what you guys think about the perspective change, and also if the journal entry at the end was a bit confusing because it switches back to Arthur, sort of. idk, out of the most recent chapters I've written, this one was the easiest to write LOL 
> 
> Also, that little A+C middle school girl bullshit at the end of this chapter is canon, absolutely. Arthur will write A+M in his journal and practically draw hearts all over it, the buffoon. I love him lol


	8. Those Blessings We Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this chapter did NOT want to be written. I rewrote it like three times, not to mention all the edits this thing went through. JEEZ.   
> Also yes, it's this mission. I had to include it, hope you guys don't mind that I changed it up a bit. It's a long one too, probably one of the longer ones I've written so far. And I can't stand to look at it anymore lol so here, take it.

It really was a stupid idea, of that Arthur had no doubt. He’d said as much, him and Hosea both. An obvious trap with no obvious benefit. A truce with Colm? They were more likely to stumble upon an abandoned gold mine all loaded with riches, or receive a pardon from the US government. But Micah had convinced Dutch it was worth checking out, of  _ course _ he had, so Arthur got dragged along on this fool's errand. The entire situation left a bitter taste in his mouth, sour with anxiety and the tang of impending disaster.

He knew about where the proposed meeting place was located - near an old oil derrick in the Heartlands he’d sketched in his journal a few weeks ago - and knew the place was wide open and almost barren. Perhaps harder to spring a surprise attack without the cover of trees or bushes, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. They mounted up, Arthur looking around camp one last time and catching Charles’ eye, giving him a look that was hesitant and mildly apologetic. They had planned to go out hunting today, get some time to themselves, and maybe... But no, that would have to wait for now. Charles just nodded, watching as Arthur, Dutch, and Micah all rode out in single file between the trees.

“You know... I’ve been fighting Colm for so long now, I barely remember a time when it was different.” Dutch remarked from behind Arthur, and the outlaw tightened his jaw and looked over his shoulder at his mentor and father figure, saw the shadow of recollection play across his face.

“You’re still fightin’ him now, make no mistake of that.” Arthur grumbled. Why would the O’Driscoll’s have even proposed a parley? Why approach  _ Pearson _ of all people with that offer? It just didn’t add up.

“Oh, here he goes... Doubting Thomas.” Micah sneered, and Arthur snapped his head forward to scowl at the man’s back. “Is there any plan you ain’t sour on?”

He heard the frustration in Micah’s tone, glanced behind him and saw Dutch’s firm look, and Arthur realized that despite how he felt, they were still riding out to do this. Dutch thought it was worth the risk, thought it might bear fruit. He was outvoted, clearly, and now his job was not to deliberate, but to protect and do as he was told.

“Maybe you’re right.” He sighed, begrudgingly admitting it, acknowledging the slim possibility that this  _ wouldn’t _ be a terrible disaster. “I’m just... nervous. Let’s not waste anymore lives needlessly.” He remembered Jenny, Mac, Davey. Three people that he’d considered part of his family that were now gone. He recalled the countless people that had been shot in Strawberry and Valentine, didn’t know how many of them had died but he certainly knew how it had fanned the flames that kept chasing after them.

“I ain’t costing lives here, I’m  _ saving _ them.” Micah replied, sounding so confident and sure of himself, of this plan working out. Arthur could see why someone could be convinced by him, even if he wasn’t. “What did you say, we had Pinkertons coming after us?”

“Because of Blackwater.” Arthur shot back dourly. Because of Micah’s ferry job is what went unsaid.

But Micah continued on as if Arthur hadn’t spoken at all. “And Leviticus Cornwall and his private army! And who knows when this local hillbilly thing will come to a head, hm? Can we really afford to be fighting on all these fronts,  _ and _ O’Driscoll?”

“There is wisdom in that.” Dutch observed, and Arthur... well, he had to agree, didn’t he? He didn’t know if it was wise so much as it was desperate, but it was also true. If there was a way to take even a little of the heat off them, maybe it  _ was _ worth trying. If they could remove this threat it might make it easier to eventually slip away when they were finally able. Because while they’d been in Lemoyne they had only made more trouble for themselves, not less, as far as Arthur could see. Maybe this was the sort of step that needed to be taken to alleviate risks in the future? And for all he knew, maybe the heat that had been creeping up on them was also burning at the O’Driscoll’s heels?

“I hope so, gentlemen... but like I said, I’m nervous.” He grumbled, running his thumb over the inlaid metal on his saddle horn. So many things could go wrong, his mind running away with the potential danger and coming to some rather ridiculous conclusions the longer he dwelled on it. At the very least Charles wouldn’t be coming, Arthur wouldn’t have to worry about  _ him _ as well as Dutch.

“Look,” Micah sighed, “you ain’t even going to be the one in danger. We’ll get on over there, find a nice perch for you to settle into... you got that rifle, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Arthur scowled again, tipping his head down to avoid looking at Micah’s back, the sight just serving to irritate him further, like a fly that wouldn’t leave no matter how many times it was swatted at. It wasn’t about  _ his _ safety, that was something he could handle well enough, like he did every day. He was anxious about the risk to Dutch, about the risk to everyone else if this went truly wrong. There had once been a time where Dutch would have taken his concerns more seriously, would have listened if he had said he was unsure or nervous, perhaps even changed the plan or put a failsafe in place. But not now, not since Micah had somehow wormed his way to Dutch’s side, and it just sat wrong with him. Now, it was Arthur himself who was the failsafe on a job he  _ didn’t even want to be on _ .

“Then me and Dutch walk right into the lion’s den, with you to cover us.” The way Micah spoke irked him as well, almost everything the man did bothered him in one way or another. He didn’t know why he was still around, if he was honest with himself. Nobody except Dutch seemed to like Micah, and it was only Dutch’s vouching for him that had solidified his role in the gang at all. Certainly, Arthur wasn’t the only one who disliked the greasy man. The things Arthur had overheard him saying to Lenny, to  _ Charles _ .... Oh, he didn’t like Micah at all. But that wasn’t his place either, was it? Just to do as he was told. Had it always been this way?

“Okay. Just... keep calm. Unless I give you a reason not to.” It was all he could do, wasn’t it? Just go along with this plan and do his best to prevent it from ending in disaster.

“Oh, we’ll be fine. We’ve got you.” Dutch spoke up, and the easy, natural confidence in his voice was like a familiar song. He knew the melody by heart, even if the words got changed up every time, and he was always somewhat soothed by the sounds he knew. Dutch would see the danger in something, would change the plan if it needed to be changed, and if he was confident that something would work out, then Arthur had to be as well.

“I will do my best.” He promised, looking over his shoulder to try and catch Dutch’s eye. But Dutch wasn’t looking at him, off staring into the middle distance, some unnamed, unreal fixture of memory catching his attention.

“Oh, my dear and trusted friend, with you watching over me I would walk into Hell itself.” It settled something, just a little bit more, to hear that. Dutch trusted Arthur, trust borne of twenty years together, twenty years of jobs both good and bad, watching out for each other in all the ways that mattered. That was enough to convince him that no matter what he thought of the idea - even if the whole thing rankled him and made his stomach churn unpleasantly - he would follow through and do his duty to Dutch and his family.

He shoved some chocolate into his mouth in hopes that it would settle his nerves and keep the sneer off his face at Micah’s next few words. 

He just started going on and on. He dreamed too big, did he? Cared too much? God, Arthur wasn’t normally one to challenge a man on his beliefs, but if there was one thing he was certain about in this entire thing, it was that Micah did not, in fact,  _ care too much _ . He wanted to say it was all horseshit, because Lord was it ever, but he decided just to eat more chocolate and tune the man out.

He decided to let his mind wander to something more pleasant; Charles. 

Ever since that kiss on the edge of camp, Arthur hadn’t been able to stop thinking about when he would get to have more. When they would be alone together next, if they could stop into some town somewhere and rent a room, one of them sneaking in through the window so they could spend the night in the same bed, doing... doing the sorts of things that Arthur wanted to do, even if he wasn’t sure he knew how. Couldn’t be that complicated, right? Charles might lay Arthur down on his back, and they would take their time undressing each other. Arthur would get to touch those broad shoulders, he would slip his hands beneath Charles’ shirt and feel the soft and hard places of his torso, his chest and stomach and sides. Charles would lean in and kiss him, like before, only this time he wouldn’t have to stop. He might touch Arthur’s chest again, might touch lower too. Might touch his-

“Here, there’s a spot up there I think would serve you, son.” Dutch’s voice snapped him back to the current moment, and he looked up, followed Dutch’s outstretched finger to a little game trail that led up to a flat topped mesa of sorts. “Now, let’s meet up a little ways down the road once this is through. If something goes wrong, we can gather by Dewberry Creek. Sound good to you, Arthur?”

With a burning face he just nodded, didn’t say anything, and broke off from the other two, riding up the ridge alone. Couldn’t believe he’d let his mind wander like that. It really wasn’t the time or place for such thoughts, even as appealing as they were. No, he needed to focus now. Later, he could have all the fantasies he pleased, once this was done and everyone was back at camp, safe and whole. Maybe even more than fantasies...  _ later. _

He dismounted from Beast, making sure the large horse was far enough from the edge that he wouldn’t be seen, and got into position at the edge of the cliff, shifting down to lay nearly on his belly, hard to spot from the meeting point out there unless someone was looking for him, knew where he’d be.

A vulture took flight from the bushes nearby, where a rotten coyote was festering away, and Arthur just wrinkled his nose and pulled the scoped rifle from his back. As he looked through the scoped lens, he could make out the two figures of Dutch and Micah approach three other men; Colm and two of his boys. They stepped up to each other, Colm coming to stop only a few paces in front of Dutch, and both men seemed to be sizing each other up. He couldn’t hear anything from this distance, but nobody seemed to be reaching for their guns yet, and although Dutch’s posture was tense he didn’t think the man was about to lose his head in either sense of the phrase. 

It was odd, though. They were just standing there, looking at each other. He wished he knew what they were saying, what the whole point of this thing was. For a trap, Colm didn’t seem to have any hidden men down there on the plains, just those two he had with him. No other horses that he could see, the road was empty in both directions. It seemed as if, perhaps, Colm was actually intent on finding a truce, and yet the whole thing made his skin itch, his mind telling him there was a threat even if his eyes couldn’t see it. Maybe he just needed to have faith in Dutch, faith that this would work out. He doubted they’d ever get back to running jobs together, but agreeing to stay out of each other’s way was a large benefit for both of them...

Footsteps scuffling in the dirt behind him, coming up quick. He took his eyes away from the scope and turned around just in time to see the barrel of a rifle come smashing down onto his head.

\---

His head hurt. It throbbed in a way that nauseated him and made him want to curl up in a ball, cover his face and try to block out the noises that stabbed into his head. But his hands were tied behind his back, he could feel the way it pulled at his shoulders and made his wrists ache. He cracked his eyes open and hissed under his breath, realized he had no idea where he was. At the edge of some makeshift camp, thrown onto the ground. He looked blankly at the sky for a few painful minutes, and slowly came to understand that the noises he was hearing were not just the pounding in his own head, but voices. Men talking... Bounty hunters or O’Driscoll’s? 

Arthur heard them talking about him, something about grabbing him for a set up, something about Colm waiting for them. So these were O’Driscoll’s then, had to be. Arthur and Hosea had been right after all, this whole thing had been a trap.

But it didn’t matter, he had to get away. The sky was beginning to pinken on the horizon, probably a few hours had passed since he’d been taken from up on that ridge. What had happened to Dutch? Weren’t they supposed to have met up afterwards? Granted, that had been near the point where Arthur had stopped listening, but he was sure there was a plan to regroup no matter what. Was Dutch still there, waiting for him?

He turned his aching head and couldn’t see Beast anywhere, didn’t know where his horse was, if the O’Driscoll’s had even bothered to try and take the ornery bastard or just left him there on the ridge. Without a horse, his only option was to run. 

Slowly, he shifted up to his knees, gritting his teeth against the way it made the world spin, ignoring how bile rose up in his throat. He had to get up and get away, had to escape. The O’Driscoll’s were facing away from him, laughing and crowing over something or other, and he had to take this chance before it was too late.

He got his feet under him, crouching low to keep his balance, arms pulled uncomfortably behind his back, and he fought against the swaying of the ground beneath his feet as he started up the hill behind the little camp. Going slowly, he didn’t want to make too much noise and alert the men to his escape, didn’t want them to know he was gone until he could at least find something to untie his wrists.

He barely made it two feet before he heard shouting behind him. They’d noticed. So much for that. 

He tried his best to break into a sprint, but it was more of a determined wobble and he struggled to stay upright. The shouts continued behind him, but they weren’t chasing him. Why weren’t they chasing him? He was gaining ground, maybe five feet away now, a tree up ahead that maybe he could brace against for just a moment-

A rope suddenly cinched around his shoulders, pulling him to the ground hard enough that he saw white spots explode in front of his eyes, got the wind knocked out of him, making him wheeze as the world spun violently and everything became a confusing mass of colors and sounds all jumbled together in no particular order. He wasn’t sure, but he might’ve hit his head again as he fell.

The O’Driscoll who’d lassoed him walked into his field of view, placed a dirty boot on his side and pushed him over onto his back. Everything was too bright, spinning before his eyes, but Arthur was sure the man was smiling, his crooked teeth and dirty black hair having that triumphant gleam. He opened his mouth to cough a curse at him and was quickly silenced by a punch to his gut.

Kicked hard in the ribs, it took Arthur’s breath from his lungs and pulled a rasping gasp from his throat. The other two had come upon him, joined the first, and they all began to kick and punch and stomp on his body, pummeling him and shouting threats and jeers and mockeries of his cries of pain. He felt boots and spurs connect to the side of his head, his ribs, his legs arms chest stomach  _ everywhere _ .

Arthur could only take so much before his vision went black.

\---

“Still alive, sweetheart?” Arthur’s ears were ringing, high pitched and painful, when consciousness slowly and mercilessly returned to him. A familiar voice wavered at the edges of his attention, sliding into his head and reminding him of frozen trains and stolen scores and  _ It’s a trap _ . He groaned. Like gravel crushed underfoot, the sound rasped out of his throat, dry and swollen. He tried to pry his eyelids open, but only one of them would listen, cracking just enough to let a flare of light right into the back of his skull that set his brain on fire. He groaned again, letting his head drop down, wanting to go back to sleep and get away from the slowly awakening pain that he felt in every inch of his body.

“Arthur, come on now, wake up.” The voice sang, a little closer, and something icy cold was splashed across his face. Arthur gasped, muscles tensing quick and sudden like a taught noose, and he tried to jerk himself back and pull away. But he couldn’t. He was caught by his arms, kneeling on hard dirt and only able to shift an inch before his shoulders ached with the tension. His wrists... they were tied tightly together with rope and pulled above his head, supporting the weight of his body and preventing him from moving much. He felt freezing water trickle down his naked back and chest. His shirt had been pulled off, his union suit nearly completely undone, yanked down to the waist and revealing far too much of his body. His pants, boots, and hat were all gone, and the sense of fear and shame that crawled up his spine left a shiver in its wake.

And Colm O’Driscoll himself was crouching in front of him, an empty bucket set down beside him and a greasy smile on his greasy face. 

“ _ There _ you are. Was wondering if my boys had been a bit too rough on you.” His lank gray hair hung down in front of his eyes, and he looked far too satisfied for Arthur’s tastes.

“Y-you... bastard...” Arthur’s voice sounded far away and tinny even to himself, rung in his head wrong. Speaking made him want to vomit, and he swallowed down the urge to retch.

“Aww, you mad at me, sugar? That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?” Yellow teeth stretched into a mockery of a smile, and Colm laughed. He reached out and took tight hold of Arthur’s chin, tilting his head back sharply and making the outlaw gasp and grit his teeth with how the world seemed to tilt entirely to the side. He glared as best as he could, but he could only imagine how pitiful he looked right now; on his knees and beaten half to death, almost naked and entirely too vulnerable.

“Don’t be like that. Here, I bet you’re thirsty, huh?” Colm asked knowingly, before his face contorted into a frown. “Too bad. That bucket of water was all I had. Oh, but I do have something else.” He reached outside Arthur’s limited field of view, and the hand on his chin tightened and yanked his head to the other side, and Arthur’s stomach threatened to revolt. The mouth of a bottle was pressed to his lips, and he pursed them together reflexively, tried to turn his head away. The grasp on his chin released, and he got a sharp smack to the side of his face for his efforts. His ears rang like bells and the pounding in his head nearly had him doubling over. He would have, if his arms hadn’t been rigged up tight to something on the ceiling, holding his body as he swayed.

“He’s got a lot of fight in him, that’s for sure.” There was someone else here? A second voice, sniveling and bitter. One of Colm’s lackeys, standing near a set of stairs that lead upwards. Was he in a basement? A cellar? 

The man walked forward, leaning down beside Colm and grabbing Arthur’s hair in a tight and painful grip, holding his head steady. Colm grabbed his jaw, squeezing right on the joint hard enough to make Arthur open his mouth like a viper being wrangled, snarling in refusal even as Colm gave a bark of victory.

The bottle was shoved past his teeth, far enough to make him gag and choke as whiskey began to pour down his throat. He coughed and tried to turn his head away, tried to struggle, but the men just laughed at him as he was forced to swallow the drink or drown in it. It went up his nose and down into his lungs, and when Colm finally pulled the now empty bottle away, tossing it carelessly to the side, Arthur could only hack and retch, wanting to vomit and coming so close.

“There now, ain’t that better?” Colm asked in that sickeningly saccharine voice. They were humiliating him. That was their game, was it? But why? Nothing made sense; not  _ him _ being taken instead of Dutch, not what they hoped to get out of this, nothing. Trying to think just left him spinning worse than before, and he shut his eye in a vain attempt to make it all stop. His cheeks were wet from tears, his hopeless heaving just made everything so much worse, made his eyes water uncontrollably. He ached and throbbed all over, his chest and ribs, his legs and arms, his head. Why do this? Revenge? But then why propose the parley at all?

It’s a trap. Lord, why hadn’t Dutch  _ listened? _

Colm pat him on the face patronizingly, and Arthur wanted so badly to turn his head and bite him, anything to get his hand away, to stop Colm from touching him. His intent must have shown on his beaten face, because Colm just laughed, and in the next moment he smacked Arthur across the jaw again, and Arthur tasted fresh blood in his mouth, mixing with bile and whiskey.

“Oh come on, Arthur. Don’t look at me like that. Relax and enjoy yourself, you’re gonna be here for awhile yet.” Like dangling a carrot in front of him, Arthur knew it was bait, but he couldn’t help but take it. His blood ran cold, and he fought against the pain and exhaustion, looking up at Colm and trying to focus. Why he’d been taken... He knew he was about to learn, and he _ had  _ to pay attention.

“What did you do?” He rasped, an urgent prickling underneath his skin. 

“Oh, nothing. Not yet, anyway. But we got you, and he’s gotta know that by now.” Colm jerked Arthur’s head by his hair, laughing in his face with his rotten breath. “Oh, he’s gonna be so mad! He’ll come raging over here, the whole lot of ya, and when he does... the law are gonna be waiting for him. And while they’re busy with you all, I’m just gonna disappear. I figure once they got him, they’ll forget about me.”

It was insane, and so utterly stupid that Arthur was almost certain it was the whiskey muddling his head. That couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be the plan. Selling Dutch out to the law and thinking it would take the price off his own head? Colm couldn’t be that dumb...

“You... you’re a fool if you think they’ll jus’ let you go, Colm. Ain’t like that. They ain’t the forgettin’ type.” Arthur could hear the slur in his own words, felt how thick his tongue seemed in his mouth. “Jus’ let me go... Colm, we all got bigger problems now. We can end it, right here. Jus’ let me go.”

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” Colm let go of Arthur’s hair, pushing his head roughly to the side and Arthur swayed against the ropes, tried to spread out his knees for better balance, feeling like he might be sick again if the world didn’t stop spinning.

“You bastard... you fool... They’ll kill you all, ain’t just gonna be me an’ Dutch.” He wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep. His head hurt so much, his body ached sharply in ways he knew meant nothing good. He had blood in his mouth and his ears kept ringing, wouldn’t stop. 

There was another bottle pressed to his lips, the other man in the room that Arthur had already forgotten about was holding it firmly to his mouth, and before he had a chance to turn away it was being forced past his lips. He had to swallow, didn’t have a choice. He spluttered and coughed and drank it, hating every moment. They were going to get everyone killed. He had to get out of here, get back to camp, warn Dutch. But he couldn’t... he was helpless. Tied up and beaten, and steadily being pushed towards drunk.

“Oh Arthur... I missed you.” As soon as the empty bottle was taken from his lips, it was shattered against his skull. There was no reprieve before Arthur was mercilessly beaten, Colm taking his enjoyment in striking Arthur where it already hurt, and the outlaw didn’t last half as long as last time before he felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness.

\---

Light. A bright light was shining in his eyes, through his eyelids. It was hot, so very hot, and this hot burning light was so very green.

He was flat on his back, his arms limp on the ground by his head, and his guts churned. His mouth felt fuzzy and dry and his tongue felt thick, and his wheezing breaths caused sharp, stabbing pains in his ribs. Breathing hurt  _ so much _ . He tasted blood and bile, smelled vomit and sweat, and as the moments ticked by, as his brain slowly became more aware, he realized that his arms being by his head... meant they were no longer tied to the ceiling. Still bound at the wrists, but not leashed. 

What was going on? Where was Colm? Had someone come and freed him? 

“D-Dutch...” He rasped, slowly pushing himself up on shaking arms. His body was hot, burning up, and he shivered at the cooling sweat he could feel on his back and chest. The cellar was dark aside from a single candle burning on a workbench. Where had the green light gone? He was sure he’d seen it... it had been there, it had woken him up. Where had it gone?

His mind was a mess of panic and pain, confusion seeping through his body and into his weak limbs, fear urging him to get up, go, run away. Get back to camp and prevent everyone from falling into the Pinkerton’s hands.

Crawling, he used the wall to get himself up onto weak and trembling legs, his left ankle throbbing painfully as soon as he put weight on it. It must have been broken. His ankle... his ribs, maybe more. Broken. But he couldn’t let it stop him, had to get out. 

He shambled to the stairs. The cellar door was open, and the night outside was dark and silent. No guards? No noise. Didn’t matter, had to try, now might be his only chance.

Slowly, his body protesting at each movement, he went up the steps one at a time, biting his lip hard, not wanting to release any of the pained noises trying to worm their way up his throat. Had to be quiet and had to be quick. Just keep going.

That thought pulsed in his head stronger than the agony, working through his system and leaving him nearly single-minded in his resolve. Keep going.

He reached the top of the cellar stairs, prepared to see men around, guards or law he would have to evade, anyone. But... Nothing. No one was there. There were the remnants of a big campfire, but it was burnt out and cold. Logs used as benches and crates used as impromptu tables, but no one was sitting there. No one was there at all. No voices, no lights or sounds, no shapes in the darkness that could be people laying in wait for an ambush or dead on the ground.

A cold, freezing dread crept up his spine. Empty... why was it empty? Had the Pinkertons lost their patience and taken the O’Driscoll’s? Had Dutch and the gang already come to try and save him and gotten captured? How long had he been unconscious in that cellar?

_ Arthur Morgan. _

Arthur turned his head so fast that he nearly tumbled back down the stairs. Where had that voice come from? He looked around, heart beating rapidly in his throat, choking him, making it hard to breathe. That voice... it was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Where had that voice come from? There was no one here...

_ Arthur Morgan, we have found you. Do not run. _

He didn’t know what was happening. The place was empty save for him and that voice that burned it’s way into his ears and made him so very afraid. He took a trembling step out into the open, turning around and looking, but still no one came. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he looked up. The sky... the sky was so big and dark and empty, too full for all the nothing he could see in it. He wanted to shrink down into himself and hide, could feel eyes on him from all sides, from above, from everywhere. And the pain... he was in so much pain. His face felt swollen, his vision was still tipping and tilting and tinged the wrong color; reddish orange when he knew the night should be that dark blue-ish black.

He was stumbling into the middle of the abandoned camp before he realized it, leaning against crates to catch his breath and keep himself from falling, knew that if he dropped he wouldn’t be able to get back up. But he had to get out of here, had to leave. That voice was... all around, in his head, and the green light was coming, he knew it was. It was after him. He had no idea what happened, couldn’t fathom where all those men had gone, and he didn’t care. He could only hope Dutch hadn’t come, was still back at camp, safe. Could only hope that Charles was waiting for him there.

Panic rang through his head like the sound of so many bells, and he was limping as fast as he could towards the line of trees. There was no one around, nothing. No horses or carts or noise, except for the voice and the light and  _ danger _ .

He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know how far from his family he might be, but his best chance of getting back was to find a road, maybe find a horse, find  _ anyone _ . 

_ Arthur Morgan, turn around. _

The voice was in his head, it  _ was _ . It was in his head and all around him and it sounded green and horrifying, and he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. He turned over his shoulder and saw that horrible brightness that did not belong on this earth, saw shapes he didn’t understand, and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That doesn't sound too good for our dear Arthur, now does it? I hope he's alright >u>


	9. Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from a different perspective! These next few chapters have been very difficult to write, and have gone through many edits and drafts and rewrites, but I feel like I'm at least content to leave this one as it is.

Charles had felt a heavy sense of foreboding when Dutch and Micah rode back into camp without Arthur. He’d been on watch, volunteered for it so he could be the first to know when the men had returned. Only, he hadn’t expected them to come back without Arthur, without the man who’d been wary of the meeting in the first place.

Dutch hadn’t seemed overly concerned, and Micah not at all. The men had dismounted and Dutch had instantly been set upon by an anxious Hosea.

“So, how’d it go?” He’d asked, brows creased as he looked behind the two, as if wondering when Arthur would appear from the bushes and trees. But he didn’t, and Dutch gave a shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand. 

“Went about like you’d expect. Colm ran his mouth and said a lot of  _ nonsense _ , don’t think anything really came of it at all.” Dutch supplied, brushing trail dust from his black vest. 

“Where’s Arthur?” The old conman asked after a moment, something in his expression shifting.

“Off running some errand or gallivanting to his heart's content, I imagine.” Dutch was already starting to walk back to his tent, and Hosea followed behind. Charles knew that he should stay on watch, but he couldn’t calm the sudden anxious beating of his heart. He followed after the two older men, setting his rifle down by the crates where the others were kept for those on watch. He noticed Lenny pick it up and walk back towards the trees, giving him a nod and a nervous look. Good kid.

Hosea had let the flaps of Dutch’s tent close after him as he and Dutch went inside, and Charles came up and sat on one of the crates a little ways away, far enough to not be caught but close enough to still hear the voices coming through the canvas. 

“You _ imagine _ ? So you don’t know?” Hosea pressed, and Dutch sighed, tolerating the older man’s questions much longer than he would have for anyone else. Hosea could get away with things that would send Dutch into a rage if anyone else were to do them, Charles was sure.

“No, I guess I don’t. But the boy is  _ fine _ .”

“If you don’t know where he is after a meeting with Colm O’Driscoll, how can you be sure he’s fine?”

“ _ Because _ Colm was just a waste of time. He spoke in some damn riddle and then he left. Nobody started a fight, so I suppose Arthur just got bored and decided to go entertain himself. You know how he can be.”

“And  _ you _ know our son is loyal, despite his habit of wandering off. He would _ never _ run out on a job before it was finished. Wasn’t there any rendezvous set after this?”

“Yes, but-”

“So you’re saying Arthur  _ didn’t _ follow the plan?”

“... Well, I... I’m sure he’s fine, Hosea. Calm down. We had him hidden up on some cliff, out of sight, and I didn’t see his horse anywhere nearby when we went to the meeting spot to wait.” Dutch was starting to sound a little unsure.

“...You waited, he didn’t show up, so you decided to just  _ come back without him? _ ” Hosea sounded angrier than Charles had ever heard him, like he wanted to throttle Dutch. He would probably have been shouting if his voice could have taken it. 

There was a tense moment of silence inside the tent before the sound of a chair shifting on the pallet floor. Boots tapping the wood, a sigh.

“Micah said I shouldn’t worry, and he’s right. Arthur’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. I’m sure he’ll show up given a few hours.”

“And what if he doesn’t? Are you willing to take that risk?” The conman’s voice was lower now, pitched in a way that Charles couldn’t be sure about, but was fairly certain came along with a harsh glare. It sounded like it did.

“Hosea, you’re blowing this out of proportion! What  _ exactly _ do you think happened?” Dutch kept deflecting, and Charles didn’t think he’d end up winning this argument. Not that he’d ever seen Ducth lose, but something about how staunch Hosea was being about this spoke of more than just simple annoyance with a job or a choice the man had made. Arthur had told him back up in Colter about how he’d been with Dutch and Hosea for more than twenty years, how they had taught him to read and practically raised him. Surely that would warrant a search?

“I don’t know, and neither do you! Why aren’t you treating this more seriously? Because  _ Micah Bell _ said not to? Since when have you listened to  _ him _ more than  _ me _ ?”

The camp rang with the sudden explosion of Hosea’s volume, just a short burst but clearly audible to everyone, and the silence that followed was thick. There was no movement from inside the tent, almost as if both men were frozen, and then Dutch’s voice, low and soft and quiet enough that Charles almost didn’t hear him.

“We’ll wait for him to show up, Hosea. A couple of days, and then I’ll send someone out looking for him. He hasn’t had the chance to run around in weeks, I don’t want to cut that short for him because we couldn’t stop and relax for a second. Just a few days, alright? Our boy is probably fine. I know you’re worried, Old Girl, but there’s no need.”

“For your sake, Dutch Van der Linde, you’d better be right.”

\---

It had been two days, and Arthur hadn’t returned. Charles had done chores around camp and taken every available watch, not wanting to leave and miss the man’s return. Hosea was apparently doing the same - not chores so much as lingering by the scout fire at night and patrolling the edges of camp during the day. John would have to usher the older man off to bed when it was clear he was going to fall asleep standing up, when worry was the only thing keeping him awake. Charles wasn’t sleeping well either, every small noise in the night would wake him up, making him think it was Arthur coming back to camp, only for him to realize it was one of the others or some sort of animal off in the distance. And the longer that it went on, the smaller the chance that Arthur would be alright, and the more Charles couldn’t help but worry.

And of course, when Arthur still hadn’t shown up by morning of the third day, Charles had had enough. Dutch had said a few days, and they’d waited like they’d been told, but at some point he just couldn’t sit still anymore. He’d gotten up early, just as the sun was rising, and started packing things onto Taima’s saddle. His shotgun and bow, for one, as there was no telling what sort of trouble Arthur might be in, along with as much medicine as he could stuff into the saddlebags, gauze and rags that he’d managed to get from Strauss. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, truly hoped he was overreacted like Dutch had seemed to think, but he also didn’t care.

After their kiss, they hadn’t had the chance to spend much time together, but Charles knew how he felt, and now he knew Arthur felt the same. He wanted to make something of it, wanted... Well, he wanted a lot of things, but more than any of that, he trusted Arthur, enjoyed his company, liked his rough sense of humor and that rare sensitive side he seemed to do his utmost to hide from the world. And he knew that, no matter what, Arthur would be out looking for him if the roles were reversed.

Hosea was awake as well, and he’d been watching Charles prepare from the edge of camp, a tin cup of coffee in his hand. When Charles thought that he had all he could bring, he glanced at the older man and set his mouth in a firm line. 

“I’m going out to look for him.” He didn’t bother beating around the bush. They’d already wasted so much time, time that Arthur may have needed, and Charles refused to consider that the worst had already happened. He was determined to go out and find him, bring him back safe, on his own if he had to. But the old conman surprised Charles by nodding and getting up from his seat by the scout fire.

“I was just waiting for you to finish up. I’m coming with you.” He said, placing his mug by the log and walking over to Silver Dollar, who Charles had failed to notice was already tacked up and ready to go, supplied much like Taima was. Charles paused, watching as Hosea hefted himself up onto the saddle of the taller horse, and Charles just followed suit without a word. They nodded to Karen on watch as they left, and started heading west.

“Dutch said that they arranged the parley somewhere in the Heartlands, we should be able to see it when we get near enough. He marked the area on a map for me, as well as where Arthur was supposed to be on lookout and the place they had agreed to meet up after.”

Hosea seemed more prepared than Charles had expected, but he also wasn’t very surprised. The man had been highly vocal that first day about this whole thing, and hadn’t relaxed since. He had also been giving Dutch the cold shoulder; ignoring the man and blatantly walking away from him whenever he came up to try and talk. It was a dangerous move, and Charles had been shocked that Hosea had been allowed to be so disrespectful towards their leader, but John had mentioned something about Hosea and Dutch being like an old married couple, and how Hosea could get away with treating Dutch like this, confirming Charles’ suspicions about the older man being allowed things that would get anyone else kicked out. 

He wondered if Hosea had known how antsy Charles had been about waiting, how he would check the treeline of camp whenever he had a spare second. Maybe he’d been watching Charles just as much as Charles had been watching for any sign of Arthur? He felt a different sort of anxiety on the back of his neck as he thought about that, and did his best to brush it off and stay focused. Instead, he just nodded and made a noise of agreement, and the ride from Scarlett Meadows to the Heartlands was done in silence. 

Arthur had to be fine, he just  _ had _ to be.

When they reached the rendezvous point at the crossroads, the sun had fully risen and they were entering the late morning, and there was nothing to indicate Arthur had ever been there; Beasts large hoofprints were always easy to spot in the soft dirt and Charles didn’t see them. That erased the possibility that Arthur had come along after Dutch and Micah had left, so they made their way to the place where Arthur had split off from the other two, and there at least Charles could pick up a trail, a few days old but visible. They ascended the ridge together, dismounting from their horses as they reached the flat top, and started scouring the area for anything that might tell them where Arthur had gone or what had happened.

The smell of rot hit his nose, and Charles nearly gagged on the sudden fear that flared sharp and acrid in his stomach. But there was no corpse lying in the dirt, and after a moment Hosea found the culprit; the mostly rotten remains of an animal, probably a coyote. It was nearly hidden at the edge of the ridge, and it looked far too old to have anything to do with Arthur. Making a face at the smell, Hosea cleared his throat and spit into the dirt. “There’s blood here, but... no way to know what it’s from. It’s only a little, either way...”

Arthur had definitely been here, there was no doubt. Dutch had seen him go up here, but where had he gone after, and what had happened? Had he really just left without saying a word? It just didn’t seem like something he’d do, even if he’d done it before... he’d been properly apologetic about that, and had taken steps to make up for it. It just didn’t make sense that he would do the same thing again, not even three weeks later. So what-

His hat. Arthur’s hat, lying tangled in some scrub brush, forgotten and nearly blowing off the cliff edge if not for the frayed rope around it that was caught in the bristly twigs. And next to it, scuff marks in the dirt, like a struggle had occurred. A few small dark drops right next to it, most likely blood. And then long parallel drag marks leading off towards the other side where they’d come up.

“Hosea.” Charles’ voice was flat, his hands steady, but his heart was starting to race. Because Arthur never went anywhere without his hat, barely took it off to sleep, there was no way he’d just leave it here in the middle of nowhere if he’d been awake or aware enough to get it. He’d even gone after it in the middle of gunfights when the stupid thing had been shot off his head. There had been a fight up here, that was obvious now that Charles was looking, and it looked like whoever Arthur had been up against had won. They must have taken him by surprise.

As Hosea came over and saw the damning evidence, he apparently came to the same conclusion, worry and anger flashing like lightning across his face.

“I’m going to kill Dutch Van der Linde. If they’ve hurt a single hair on his head... I’m going to kill that fool.”

Charles grabbed the hat, stuffing it into Taima’s saddlebags as he mounted back up, followed the drag marks as they turned into horse prints, and rode carefully down the ridge, back to the main road and in the opposite direction of home. The tracks lead further west, and did not belong to Beast. It was unlikely they’d been able to force that stubborn stallion anywhere, and had most likely left him on the ridge to wander away on his own. Charles hoped he was alright, but his main concern was Arthur.

The tracks led as far as the winding banks of the Dakota river, the sun starting to wind it’s way towards early evening by the time they got there. But as they reached the shore, the tracks crossed into the river and seemingly vanished, muddled by too many other travelers and animals to get a clear trail. They must have crossed, but no matter how many times Charles rode up and down each side of the riverbank, he couldn’t pick the trail back up.

What sort of tracker was he when he couldn’t even follow a horse trail he knew to look for? What use was he when he couldn’t find the hoofprints in the mud that Arthur’s captors had left? Arthur may be hurt, may need him, and he was stuck here looking at all these criss-crossing horse tracks to try and figure out which one belonged to the right horse, and he couldn’t even-

“Charles, I think we should split up.” Hosea called from further down the river, where he’d been trying to see if anything had gotten caught in the rocks, maybe some scrap from Arthur or any other clue that could help direct them. 

Charles took a long, slow breath and looked up from the frustratingly unhelpful muck, tightening his hands on the reins. He continued to breathe deeply in and slowly out, and nodded. “Alright. You follow the road, I’ll follow the river further down.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s meet back up here if we can’t find anything in two hours.” Hosea was already heading towards the road, and Charles nodded. 

“I’ll meet you here.” And he kicked Taima into a quick walk, eyes down and trying,  _ hoping _ , to find something. Anything that could lead him to Arthur. 

If the man had been hurt... if they’d taken too long and wasted the time Arthur had needed, if Charles had allowed himself to open his heart to the other man only to fail him so spectacularly... No. No, he couldn’t think like that. If the meeting with Colm had been a trap, which it undoubtedly was, then the O’Driscoll’s had taken Arthur for a reason. A reason that was unlikely to be simply killing him. Most likely... he was bait. Bait for Dutch probably, even if he was unsure why Colm O’Driscoll would want to only bait Dutch and not simply take him when he had the chance. He could’ve easily incapacitated Arthur and then kidnapped Dutch instead, so why hadn’t he? 

Whatever the reason, Charles just hoped that the O’Driscoll’s had remained patient and hadn’t gotten tired of their captive, hoped that maybe Arthur had been able to get away, or anything else other than the terrifying possibility that thumped in his chest. Arthur was alive, he had to be, and they would find him.

\---

Hosea was at a quick trot heading west, scanning his eyes back and forth over the road to see if there was anything out of the ordinary, anything that might lend a hint towards where his son had gone. God  _ damn _ Dutch Van der Linde... that stubborn ass had better not have let anything happen to their boy,  _ his boy _ , or there would be beyond Hell to pay.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him lately, but Dutch had been acting... reckless. Callous even, and it frustrated Hosea - worried him a little - that his old friend was taking advice and counsel from Micah Bell of all people. He didn’t trust that man, hadn’t from the moment Dutch brought him into their camp, but since Dutch had vouched for him... well, all Hosea could do was voice his concerns; once Dutch had his mind made up it was nearly impossible to change it. Which, unfortunately, meant that Micah stayed... he just wished that Dutch had shown more scruples when he’d put his faith in that man.

Hosea had trusted Dutch and followed his lead for nearly thirty years, and he knew that meant something. Before the gang, before John, and even before Arthur, it had just been the two of them against the world and that was not the sort of bond that could be broken by a greasy haired little rat like Micah. But Dutch had never put Arthur at risk like this before, either. Had never treated his safety with such disregard, and he knew that it was Micah’s influence. 

It was Micah who had pushed Dutch to go after that ferry job in Blackwater even though Hosea had told him not to, Micah who had apparently burned down poor Mrs Adler’s house in the Grizzlies after scaring the poor woman for no reason at all, Micah who had been arrested and nearly gotten young Lenny lynched in Strawberry only to shoot up the entire town when Arthur had gone to spring him from jail. Micah who’d pressed Dutch for this meeting with the O’Driscoll’s and then convinced him it was fine to leave when Arthur didn’t show up afterwards... Nearly every job that man had gone on lately had some bad result.

Hosea wasn’t quick to suspect betrayal in his family, he never wanted to think that anyone they’d put their trust in could turn around and stab them in the back, but... did he really think this was all bad luck? And did he really consider Micah Bell his family? Not to mention the things he’d heard that man say about the non-white members of the gang... things that made Hosea’s irritation spike and had nearly gotten Micah beat that time Arthur had heard him call Charles a  _ darkie _ . Christ, what a mess that man was making. After this, after Arthur was back home safe, he was going to sit Dutch down and have a long, serious talk with him.

But that had to wait. Finding Arthur came first.

He was coming up near Riggs Station when a sound caught his attention. He stopped Silver Dollar, turning his horse to face the trees and bushes on the side of the road, listening a little closer. It had sounded like a heavy rustling. It could be an animal, of course, but something about it had sounded fairly large, too big to be a squirrel or a rabbit, and unless he was about to get eaten by a cougar, anything else would have shown itself or made some other sound.

He waited silently, eyes roaming over the line of foliage, and was almost convinced that it  _ had _ been an animal when he heard it again, louder this time, and accompanied by a pained sort of whimper.

His heart leapt into his throat and he was out of Silver Dollar’s saddle before he could blink. That had not been an animal, he was certain. It had sounded weak and tired, almost helpless, but distinctly  _ human _ . 

“Hello?” He called out as he walked off the road, looking around and trying to see who had made that noise. There was silence, no answering call, and Hosea was frozen, holding his breath as he tried to listen above the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

A twig snapped on the other side of him and he turned so quickly he nearly lost his balance, and all the breath in his body left him in a great big rush of panic and relief at what he saw.

Arthur was there, crawling along the ground, bruised and beaten and  _ naked _ , his wrists bloody and raw, and he was looking up at Hosea with such a fiercely terrified expression that the old man’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of it.

“Arthur!” A sharp gasp was all he could manage, a wheeze of air in constricted lungs. He was stuck, rooted to the spot, blinking rapidly as if that would clear his vision and he would see that Arthur was fine and not... Oh God, what had they done to him? Those animals! 

Arthur’s face was bruised and swollen and his body trembled with more than cold, as if being on his hands and knees was almost too great a stress for him. Hosea started to remove his coat, wanting to place it over his son’s shoulders to try and preserve a little of his warmth and dignity, but his own fingers felt numb, shook too much as he tried to unbutton the damn thing. Everywhere that Hosea could see was bruised, his ankle was bent oddly, a dark swollen purple that crept halfway up his calf, and his breathing sounded strained and rapsing.

He needed to get Arthur up and onto his horse so they could get back to Charles, back to camp. He reached out for him, coat in hand, and was shocked when Arthur shrank away, shaking so hard he fell over onto his side.

“N-no, God, no, please...” Whimpering like a child, nearly sobbing, Arthur held his hands in front of his face and begged.

God, his boy... “No, no, it’s okay Arthur. It’s alright. It’s me. Can’t you recognize me, son? It’s Hosea. I’m not gonna hurt you. Yeah, that’s right. There we go.” He talked gently to him, stepping closer like he was trying to approach an animal caught in a trap, wary that the wrong move could cause Arthur to hurt himself or lash out at Hosea in his fear. Despite the wounds and the terror, Arthur was still strong enough to seriously hurt him if he didn’t recognize who he was. 

Arthur was breathing quickly, roughly, panicked and unable to focus on the shape of his father, and Hosea hoped that the sound of his voice would be enough. Arthur just stared up at him, and Hosea reached out slowly, very gently petting a hand over the less swollen side of his face and delicately pulling him back up to sitting, having to support his weight as the man reeled like he would fall back down. He placed the coat around Arthur’s shoulders, feeling lost for a moment as to what else he could do. Arthur was burning up, his skin flushed and damp with sweat, sticky with dried blood, the wounds on his body doing no favors for him. Hosea had to get the man back to camp. Now.

“Arthur, it’s alright, I’m here. We’ll get you back home, don’t you worry. Come on Arthur, can you stand for me?” He tried to help the man, but Arthur didn’t seem able to get up, his legs refusing to stabilize beneath him and Hosea wasn’t strong enough to lift him. He tried to hold him under his arms and use a nearby tree, but it wasn’t working. Arthur couldn’t get up. 

“You sure are a big boy, huh Arthur? I’m sorry, let’s just set you back down...” Hosea was panicking, he could admit that to himself. But what was he supposed to do when his son looked half-dead and scared out of his wits and they were stuck in some goddamned  _ bushes _ on the side of the road? Maybe if he called Silver over here, Arthur could... no, he couldn’t even get the man up, how was he going to get him and  _ keep him _ on a horse?

Charles. Charles was nearby. Maybe he could just hop on Silver Dollar and go get him, bring him back quick as a flash? The younger man would be strong enough to lift Arthur, at the very least get him off the ground and then they could work out the logistics of getting him up onto Silver or Taima when it came to that.

“I’m gonna go get you some help, Arthur, just stay here for me.” He pulled away from him, only for Arthur to grab him by the front of his shirt and make a sound so desperate that it broke Hosea’s heart the rest of the way. 

“No, don’t go! Don’t go! Pl-please, Pa, don’t go! Don’t l-leave me alone!” Arthur’s voice was like shattered glass, crackling and splintering, and Hosea just... couldn’t leave him like this. He couldn’t. But he couldn’t lift him either, and Arthur seemed to be far too out of it to be reasoned with, feverish and disoriented. When was the last time Arthur had even called him Pa? It had been years, Arthur having grown out of it when other people started to join the gang and he became self-conscious over it. But whatever those O’Driscoll’s had done to him had shaken him so badly... 

“Alright, I won’t leave. I... I’ll stay. It’s alright...” Hosea ran his hands gently through Arthur’s tangled and matted hair, looking back towards the road where Silver Dollar was still waiting, patient as ever. 

How long had he been riding down the road before he’d found Arthur? At least an hour, surely. Charles was bound to come looking for him if he didn’t show up at the river crossing like they’d agreed, but could Arthur wait another hour? Did he have any other choice? It was either leave his son, or wait for Charles.

He settled Arthur against a tree, still crouching beside him and ignoring the ache in his knees. Arthur’s hands were still tightly fisted on Hosea’s shirt, his arms shaking, his entire body trembling.    
  
“Arthur, calm down now, son. I won’t leave. We’ll wait here for Charles to come and find us, alright?” He tried to soothe the man, delicately trying to work out the worst of the tangles in Arthur’s hair. He’d let it grow long again, almost down to his shoulders. 

Arthur seemed to focus on him a little better at the sound of the other man's name. “Ch-Charles?” he asked, the sound croaking out of his throat. 

“Yeah, we came looking for you... you had us so worried, son. But it’s alright now. He’ll find us in a bit, and then we’ll get you up on his horse and back home.” He whispered, his throat tight with emotion as panic bled into heartache.

“...’Sea... wh-where am I?” Arthur asked, his gaze traveling around aimlessly, unable to settle on anything and he didn’t seem to understand his surroundings very well. 

“We’re near Rigg’s Station.” Hosea said softly. “Do you remember where you came from? Which direction?” He hoped the man would know, maybe give them some clues as to how far he’d traveled or where to start looking for his belongings, but even as Hosea asked him he knew that Arthur wouldn’t be able to tell him, not in the state he was in. 

Arthur, however, surprised him by looking right at him and nodding, his eyes suddenly clear with a fresh wave of icy terror, like he’d been plunged into a frozen lake and was far too aware of his body and all the parts that burned with the cold.

“Yes.” He whispered, pulling his legs in tight against his chest. “They br-brought me here... took me up an’ away... into the sky... a-an’ brought me here wh-when they was done. I remember.”

Hosea felt his spirits fall just as quickly as they’d risen, and he just shushed Arthur again. No, he shouldn’t have expected anything, shouldn’t have tried to get an answer out of the man. He was too distressed, probably more exhausted than he’d ever been and the pain must be making it hard for him to think clearly on top of everything else. Hosea would just have to ask him later, when he was better. But for now it appeared his question had renewed Arthur’s trembling and his fear.

“Hush now, son.” He whispered, pulling Arthur in close, petting down the back of his neck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, you’re fine. Charles should be here soon, we’ll just wait for him.”   
  
He hoped Arthur did not remember this; how Hosea could feel him crying weakly against the soft cotton of his shirt, hiding his face and holding onto him desperately, if only for the sake of his pride. Soft gasps and broken sniffles, shoulders shaking with the stifled sobs of helpless panic.

“There there, Arthur.” Hosea whispered into his temple, rocking the man ever so slightly, a soothing side to side that he hoped wouldn’t aggravate Arthur’s injuries. “I’ve got you.”   
  
“Th-they found me, ‘Sea... not safe, can’t... can’t get away... I-” Arthur’s voice sounded so small.

“Hush, Arthur, hush. It’s alright. Nothing will happen while I’m here.” He was going to kill those damn O’Driscoll’s, and after that he was going to flay the skin off Dutch’s back. Hosea was perfectly comfortable putting as much blame on his old friend as on Colm himself. If only Dutch had listened and not taken that risk of meeting with Colm, if only Dutch hadn’t left that meeting place when Arthur had failed to show up. If only he’d come back to camp and gotten a search party together right away... if only, if only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got Hosea and Charles out here, doing their best.
> 
> A Happy Hanukkah to all those who celebrate! I headcanon a Jewish Hosea and you can't stop me. Not that it matters in this story, but hey.


	10. Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, another chapter about this, I hope it doesn't seem like it's dragging on too long, but I felt it was important to set some things down here before we get too far in. Also, I love John and I love how he clearly tries to change and be a good father between the end of the main story and the epilogue. The man's an idiot but he has a good heart.

Hosea hadn’t shown up at the river crossing when Charles had gone there to wait for him, unable to pick the trail back up and burning with frustration and worry, hoping that the older outlaw had found something,  _ anything _ . But he hadn’t been there when Charles arrived, and an icy dread had started to settle in his stomach. It had only gotten worse the longer he sat there in Taima’s saddle with no sign of the man, and at ten minutes past the hour he kicked her off into a canter down the road, unwilling to let idleness cause any more harm. He may not have been particularly close with Hosea, but he trusted him and found him to be kind and level-headed, a good man, and Charles was loath to just sit and wait by the road in case he’d been taken as well, ambushed by O’Driscoll’s laying in wait with their snares set.

Going at a faster pace than before, it wasn’t long before Charles saw a horse standing by the side of the road up ahead, riderless but calm. Hosea’s horse. He felt that flare of panic in his chest start to bubble up, fearing the worst as he pulled Taima to a stop. 

“Hosea?” He called, turning his head around like a swivel. “Hosea!”

“Here, Charles!” The answering call was an instant balm of relief, and Charles got off his horse as he made his way off the road and into the bushes.

“Did you find somethi-” Words caught in his throat, stuck with the sudden tightness as he saw Hosea crouching in the dirt with Arthur. Arthur, who was naked and quivering, crying like a child and trying in vain to hide his much bigger body in Hosea’s chest. Arthur, who looked like he’d been dragged through Hell and beaten like a mongrel.

“Oh my God.” Charles’ world narrowed down to that sight, feeling like it was going to be burned in his memories forever and resurface only in his worst nightmares. 

“Charles, help me get him up. He can’t stand, I think his ankle is broken.” Hosea’s tone was pleading, desperate, and it got Charles moving into action even if his mind was still reeling from the sight. 

He moved forward, but stopped short when Arthur flinched and whimpered, trying to curl up tighter and disappear into Hosea’s worn cotton shirt. Charles didn’t know what to do, and looked to Hosea, who was trying to reassure the poor beaten outlaw with gentle words and soothing motions before Charles came any closer, his voice soft and crooning.

“Arthur, it’s okay. It’s just Charles. He’s going to help you up and then you’ll be home before you know it. Trust me, Arthur. No one is going to hurt you. I’m here with you, ain’t I? You know I’ll keep you safe.” Hosea sounded like he was holding back tears, and he glanced up at Charles with dry but red-rimmed eyes and nodded once Arthur quieted back down again.

Charles knelt down beside him, hands out like Arthur was a spooked horse. He didn’t want to scare him, didn’t want to frighten or startle the wounded man any worse than he’d already done. It ached something in him to have Arthur flinch away from him, and he didn’t want to repeat that.

“Arthur, hey.” He whispered, ghosting his hands over Arthur’s swollen cheek, wanting to touch him but not wanting to hurt him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, didn’t know where to touch that wouldn’t bring Arthur pain. He looked terrible, battered and brutalized, and Charles felt that old and familiar fury start to burn behind his eyes. Seldom in its appearance, but always ready to snap and strike if he wasn’t careful. The poachers on the plains had gotten a taste, and now it frothed and churned at the thought of Colm O’Driscoll and his gang. But not now.

Slowly, steadily, he moved with Hosea to put his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and lift him up, supporting his weight as the man tipped and stumbled, scrambling to grab onto something. Charles let him grasp at his shirt, ignoring the tug of pain as Arthur caught a few strands of hair between his fingers. 

“Ch-Charles... Charles...” Arthur’s voice was horrible to hear, worse than when that rope had nearly strangled him. Broken and terrified, he sounded delirious and his skin felt hot with fever. Charles kept his eyes forward, didn’t want to look too long at Arthur’s injuries, didn’t want to bring him shame by seeing his naked body this way. Not how he wanted to see it.

“It’s alright.” Charles kept his voice low and soft, and began to lead Arthur out of the bushes and over to Taima, who turned her head and snuffed a breath out of her nose, no doubt smelling the blood and fear that covered Arthur like a cloak. He stopped when they reached her, letting Arthur lean against her sturdy side and catch his breath. He knew it would not be easy or comfortable for the man to get up in the saddle and ride back to camp, but it had to be done, and Charles wanted him to steady himself as much as he needed before then. 

“Charles...” Arthur was trying to speak through the pebbles grinding in his throat. “The light... Charles, you saw... you know, Charles... you know it’s after me...”

He turned to Hosea, who looked to be on the verge of breaking down himself. The older man was looking at Arthur, but spoke to Charles and shook his head. 

“He’s been speaking like this since I found him. Poor boy.” Hosea got into his own saddle, Silver Dollar stamping a foot at the way Hosea’s shaking hands accidentally tugged too hard at the reins.

“Oh, Arthur...” Charles sighed, chest tight with the sight of this, nearly too horrible to stomach. Arthur - so strong and capable, kind whenever he could be and brutish when he had to - now reduced to someone so weak and frightened from a violence he would never have committed himself. But despite how much Charles hated this he would not let himself turn away from it. Arthur needed him, and he would do whatever he could to help the man he’d let into his heart. He would protect him and keep him safe. If anything was a reminder that Arthur Morgan was just as vulnerable as any man, it was the trembling figure in front of him.

“Come on Arthur. Hold on to me.” He held the man under his arms, hands firm and tight and he tried to ignore the pained gasp it brought from the other man's lips. He knew it must hurt, but it had to be done. With a steadying breath and a firming of his resolve, he managed to heft Arthur up, struggling with the effort of lifting a man almost as large as himself. But he somehow managed to get him into the saddle, his arms burning as Arthur curled against Taima’s neck, hiding his face in her mane and whining with pain. He put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up, settling behind Arthur and wrapping a securing arm around his waist.

“Got him? Alright, let’s go.” Hosea had brought Silver Dollar closer, nearly hovering to the side that Arthur was listing towards, ready to try and catch him if he fell. But Charles wouldn’t let him. 

They kicked off the horses into a gallop, and Charles ached at how Arthur moaned in agony, clutched at Taima’s mane and neck. But they couldn’t risk taking it slow, they had to get him home.

The ride was a blur, Charles too focused on keeping Arthur in the saddle and the harsh burning of fear and anger that was sitting just beneath his skin to pay much attention to the scenery flashing by. At this moment, he could understand Sadie Adler’s rage towards the O’Driscoll’s very well. But Arthur wasn’t dead,  _ wouldn’t _ die, Charles wouldn’t allow it. Not like Mrs Adler’s husband, not even her vengeance able to bring him back no matter how fiercely it raged within her.

He didn’t know how long the ride took, but by the time they’d returned to camp it was truly night, dark and quiet around the tents, the fires the only source of light.

“Dutch!” Hosea called as soon as the horses broke through the tree line. John had been on watch, and at the sight of Arthur his face broke into a pale shock of fear. Arthur was still, his breathing ragged and rattling. He must’ve passed out during the ride, and it was a good thing Charles had been holding him, didn’t want to think what might’ve happened if Arthur had fallen.

John came rushing after the horses, his nightly watch forgotten as he came to stand beside Taima’s heaving chest.

“Arthur! What happened to him?” The rasp of John’s voice was choked with horror at seeing his brother this way, but Charles didn’t have time to comfort him. He just slipped out of the saddle, placing a hand on Arthur’s lower back to keep him steady before he tried to ease him down. 

“Help me get him to bed.” Charles’ voice was steadier than he expected, and John was frozen for a moment before he burst into action, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and helping Charles get Arthur off the horse as gently as they could. The man groaned and whimpered but his eyes stayed closed, and Charles’ heart was thundering against his ribs.

“Dutch Van der Linde! You get out here right now!” Hosea’s voice was cracking, and there was a bustle in camp at the sudden noise, anyone who had been asleep no longer was, and those who had been awake were making their way over. Charles didn’t want any of them to see Arthur like this, naked and vulnerable, and his shoulders bristled high to his ears. He tried to shield Arthur with his body as him and John practically dragged the man through camp, towards his cot at the far end, and he belatedly wished that Arthur had a tent and not just canvas stretched overhead his cot, nothing to offer him privacy.

“What  _ is _ all this racket?” Dutch’s voice boomed, striding closer before coming to a sudden stop. “What-... _ Arthur? _ ” Suddenly quiet, lost, Dutch just stood there and Charles couldn’t even spare him a look as he kept his eyes on Arthur’s face, on the fluttering of his eyelids and the tight grimace of pain he wore even in unconsciousness, watching his chest still rise and fall.

“Dutch, you get Swanson, Strauss, and Ms Grimshaw. Keep Jack and the women away. I need to grab some rags and tonics.” Trembling words spoken with a harsh bark, and Hosea was off.

Charles and John managed to get Arthur to his cot, fumbling a little as they lay him down as gently as they could. The coat Hosea had draped over Arthur’s shoulders didn’t cover much, and Charles grabbed the blanket at the end of Arthur’s bed and pulled it up over his waist, and then just stood there, unsure what else he could do, hands feeling numb, his brain rushing and still at the same time.

“What happened to him?” John’s voice shook with the quiet croak out of his throat, and Charles snapped his head up to look at the man. Pale and vaguely green, John’s eyes were stuck on Arthur. They were like brothers, Charles knew, even if Arthur had let slip a few times the bitterness he held about John. But right now, clearly, John wasn’t recalling the anger between them - this was his family.

“I don’t know.” Charles answered, barely able to get the words out of his throat. “O’Driscoll’s did this, but I-”

“Out of the way!” Ms Grimshaw’s shrill yell preceded her arrival, and Charles was stepping back to let her and the Reverend come to Arthur’s side without thinking. 

Charles felt lost in this ocean of panic and movement, of hurried actions and stifled gasps, Arthur’s pained noises and delirious rambling once he was awoken by it all. He was drowning, couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Arthur and the way he tried to struggle against the touches, too weak to even fight against Swanson’s trembling grasp.

“No! No, st-stop, no!” Arthur’s blue eyes, normally so clear and beautiful, were hazed and panicked and clouded with fever and confusion, terror leaking from the corners and trailing down his swollen face in fat droplets.

“Arthur calm down, it’s me, it’s Susan.” Ms Grimshaw tried to get him to settle, but whatever nightmare Arthur was seeing didn’t allow him to register her at all. He continued to struggle, and Ms Grimshaw looked up at Charles, flyaway hairs escaping her normally immaculate bun. 

“Mr Smith, make yourself useful and hold him steady for me.” Her snapping tone brought Charles out of the iceberg he’d been frozen in, and he came forward, kneeling in the dirt beside Arthur’s cot and gently trying to hold his arms down, positioning himself so he could tilt Arthur’s face towards him with the tips of his fingers. 

“Hey, Arthur. Hey. Shh. Calm down, it’s alright.” He soothed, glad once Arthur’s eyes at least settled on him, even if they didn’t seem focused. 

“Charles... H-help me... d-don’t let them... they’re go-gonna take me, Charles. Please.” He was trembling all over, but from fear or fever Charles didn’t know. Both, if he had to guess. He shushed him, leaning in close to press his forehead against Arthur’s, feeling the heat and the damp sweat and dried blood. Trying to get his eyes to stay on him, not look down, not focus on anything other than his voice and his face. He didn’t care if the others might see or what they might think.

“It’s okay, you’re home now. I’ve got you, Arthur, I’ve got you. We’ll get you fixed up, just settle down. Shh.”

More tears, and Arthur shook his head, breathing quick and shallow, his eyes trying to close but he was fighting to keep them open. 

“No, they got me Charles. Took me and t-took me again and... something’s  _ wrong _ Charles, I-”

“Hold his arm steady, Mr Smith.” Reverend Swanson’s voice, syringe in one hand and tourniquet in the other. Charles pulled away to help hold Arthur’s arm down long enough for Swanson to give him a large injection, ignoring the way his heart ached as Arthur openly sobbed and tried to pull away.

It didn’t take long after that for Arthur to finally succumb fully to his exhaustion, his whimpers and cries dropping off as his eyes slid shut, as his body relaxed, the tension of fear ebbing as the drug worked its way through his system. It was sickening, and Charles had to remind himself that Arthur wasn’t dead, just sleeping. Needed to sleep so they could help him.

“Is he out?” Ms Grimshaw looked at Arthur’s face, and then gave herself a stern, steadying nod. “Alright. Mr Smith, I’m going to need your help setting his ankle, come over to this side of him, please.”

He tore himself away from Arthur’s side, moved to the foot of the cot and gripped Arthur’s calf where he was told to, held it steady and firm as Susan took a deep breath and gave it a pull and a jerk. The sound of his bone resetting was enough to make Charles clench his jaw and shut his eyes, but Arthur barely stirred. At least Swanson hadn’t skimped.

As Ms Grimshaw began to wrap a splint around Arthur’s ankle, Charles stepped back, once more unsure what to do with himself. He couldn’t leave Arthur, had told him he wouldn’t, but now that he was asleep and being cared for, what else could Charles do?

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to meet eyes with Hosea, so tired and filled with sorrow, too many things that were reflected in Charles’ own. 

“Go get some rest, Charles.” Hosea’s voice could barely rise above a whisper, and Charles hesitated. He didn’t want to leave him, but...

“It’s alright, I’ll sit with him. If anything happens I’ll get you right away.” Hosea looked at him with such a knowing expression that Charles nearly shrank back. But no, not now. He needed to be strong for Arthur, needed to... take care of Taima and make sure she was alright after the frenzied ride back. He nodded, neck feeling stiff as a board, and stepped away with feet that felt like lead.

“He’ll be alright.” He said to Hosea, said to himself, hands clenched into fists and nails digging into his palms. 

“Yes, he will. Go rest.”

Charles fought with himself, but managed to turn away. Walked numbly over to the horses, stood there motionless for he didn’t know how long, listening to the hurried, panicked sounds of camp eventually settle and calm, the worst of Arthur’s wounds cared for now, he was sure. Arthur was home, was safe, was in the hands of those who knew and loved him, and who would do their best to see him through this. As much as he hated to admit it, Charles would just be in the way. He wasn’t nearly so good as the Reverend or Ms Grimshaw about caring for a fever or sewing up wounds. He could do it, sure, but they would do it better, so it was better for him to be out of the way for now. Better for Arthur, and that’s what mattered.

He grabbed a rifle and stalked to the treeline like a marionette with tangled strings, automatic and forced. Found himself at the edge of camp without remembering walking through the bushes, but his feet kept going, and he only turned and started to pace, back and forth and over again, hardly paying attention to anything other than his rushing adrenaline and twisting heart.

Charles paced back and forth all night, and well into the first lights of dawn.

\---

John had never been good with emotions, his own or anyone else’s. Always more inclined to brush them off and stuff them under a rug to be ignored until they burst back up in a flare of temper he usually regretted. But seeing Arthur that way stuck with him through the night, that helpless feeling of watching his brother cry and struggle against those who were trying to help him, watching Arthur weep like a child in feverish terror over hands that tried to soothe until whatever Swanson had given him pulled him under. 

He couldn’t sleep that night, hadn’t been the only one. Charles fleeing to the edge of camp to stalk through the darkness like a coiled panther, Swanson and Ms Grimshaw and eventually Strauss working to clean and stitch and set Arthur’s wounds the best they could, Hosea cornering Dutch in his tent and kicking Molly out so he could rage at him as quietly as possible, and even after Hosea left and walked towards the shoreline, the light in Dutch’s tent did not go out and Molly did not venture back in. The girls had grouped together and whispered to each other, pale whenever they would return from fetching clean water or fresh bandages for Arthur, speaking to the others in low and worried tones. Bill had looked unsettled, sitting up on his bedroll and drinking to try and force himself back to sleep. Javier and Sean and Lenny all sat by the scout fire together, silent and heavy with it, and Uncle was nowhere to be seen.

Abigail had been in her tent with Jack, protecting the young boy from the sight of Arthur, even if nothing would have been able to drown out the noises. John knew he should go and check on her, check on Jack, but he was a coward and couldn’t bring himself to go and face her worried eyes. Couldn’t bring himself to offer comfort to her and their son when he had none for himself.

So he stayed up all night, sitting by the campfire and staring into the flames. Hosea came over after a long while of looking off into the middle of Flat Iron lake, sitting next to John and leaning his elbows on his thighs, hands pressed between his knees to hide the way they seemed to tremble.

“How is he?” John heard his own voice, the rasp that never eased; not since he’d been a boy and nearly died at the end of a noose, not since Hosea and Dutch had saved his life and made it worth something.

“He’ll live. We’ll make sure he pulls through the fever, but he’s going to need... time, for everything else.” Hosea’s tone was an answering rattle, from overuse and no doubt all the shouting he’d tried to stifle inside Dutch’s tent. 

“What happened to him?” He found himself asking, turning to look at his surrogate father, the only man who’d cared to try and raise him after his own father had died. Dutch had taught him things, taught him to read and write and shoot, but Hosea had always been more of a parent in the way he treated John.

“What does it look like happened? Those bastards tortured him.” A sharply barbed whip that wasn’t meant for John, stinging with hurt and anger and the same helpless feeling that had taken hold of John’s own heart.

They should have gone to look for him sooner. That is one of the thoughts that kept repeating itself in John’s mind, unaware of how Hosea had mirrored his thoughts for hours now. They should have gone and looked for him the moment Dutch returned to camp without him, shouldn’t have taken Dutch’s word that it was fine. Dutch’s word that had just been Micah’s word, and John should have  _ known better _ than to listen to a single thing that man said, even if it had been spoken from the mouth of a man he trusted.

But he can’t change that now - none of them can - and guilt came to settle in his chest, taking up residence in the pit that the fear had dug for itself. A sorry excuse for a brother he is. Arthur went out and looked for him up in Colter, in the snow and the freezing wind, saved his life even if he grumbled and grouched about it, teased John over it, he’d still gone and looked along with Jaiver, hadn’t given up, tracked him all the way up on that damned mountain. And John hadn’t so much as ridden out to the edges of camp for his brother, despite having felt it was suspicious that Arthur hadn’t returned, but he’d trusted Dutch not to let Arthur get hurt, trusted Dutch to know if something had been wrong. But he hadn’t, and Arthur had suffered for it.

If it hadn’t been for Charles and Hosea, Arthur would’ve... 

It was almost too much to finish that thought. They were lucky to have found him, and John didn’t even know where they’d been, or how far they’d had to look. He should’ve been there with them, should’ve gone out to search. 

“Don’t punish yourself for this, son.” Hosea’s words were soft, the anger from before absent and now only sympathy - empathy - was in his tone. “There’s a thousand things we could have done different, and this still might’ve happened. Never really know how things will turn out, that’s the nature of the world.” A hand on his shoulder, older than John remembered it looking, though maybe it was just the way the fire light flickered and cast shadows deep along the veins and tendons. “Go get some sleep. Go to Abigail and the boy, and let them know everything will be fine.”

It was already morning, the sun peeking up and already making the day too hot, but John just nodded mutely, getting up and standing there for a moment. Hosea gave him a gentle push on the back, smiling when John looked down at him. 

“You get some sleep too, old man.” John muttered, and Hosea just nodded in that way that meant he probably wouldn’t listen.

“Don’t worry about me, just go. I promise I’ll come and get you if anything happens.”

And with that, John left, wandering back to the tent he shared with Abigail. She was awake, as it seemed everyone was. Everyone except Jack, sleeping in her lap as she rocked him and pet through his hair, humming softly under her breath. Some lullaby that John didn’t know. 

But she looked up as he entered, cutting off her tune and taking a deep, settling breath. 

“Hey.” She whispered, and John slowly came to rest beside her, nudging her shoulder with his and fighting against the old fear of fatherhood as he looked at his son, tear tracks dried over the young boy’s cheeks. He was so small... his face so round and soft, such a good kid. A sweet kid, somehow growing up tender surrounded by harshness and fear and danger. He worried over what would happen if Jack were to one day understand the type of life they led, and he hoped that day were as far off as possible.

“Hey.” He whispered back, taking a moment before he wrapped an arm around her, brought her cheek close against his chest, let his eyes close as he pressed his nose into her hair. She always smelled like flowers and soap, he didn’t know how she did it. Some perfume or something, but he liked it. It was comforting, now more than ever. 

“John... is he...?” Abigail's voice was so afraid and quiet, John just nodded against her head and let out a breath as he tried to find the words. He was worse than Arthur was at talking, especially about things like this - things that hurt. 

“He’ll make it, according to Hosea. I guess now we just gotta wait for him to come out of... whatever it is that’s gripping him. Nothing lethal, s’far as I can tell. Just... gonna take time, now.”

They were both silent after that, sitting with each other and holding one another in a way that they hadn’t done in a long, long time. Something John had missed but been afraid to seek. What a fool he was. Any day they could die. Hell, he could die tomorrow. And did he want to die with so many stale regrets on the back of his tongue? Did he want Abigail to never know how sorry he was for what he’d done? He’d told her, of course he had, just as he’d told Arthur, but he hadn’t really... shown it, had he?

Maybe he should change that. Maybe there were a few things that were really worth changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is charthur


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas you bunch of perverts, here's your porn!

_I have been laid up for three weeks now, and if it were not for the daily visits from Charles, I think I surely would have lost my mind already. This damned ankle pains me still, and Ms Grimshaw is like a hellcat with a sore tooth whenever I try to venture farther from my bed than the stew pot. But it leaves me with nothing to do other than help the girls with washing and folding and sewing. I really have never had a truer appreciation for how dull it all can be, and I will be sure to offer them a ride to town whenever I can, in the future. I cannot even help with the other chores like chopping wood or feeding the horses, and it grates at me to be so useless. The girls only let me help out of pity, surely, as I’ve noticed them correcting my work once I’ve finished._

_It should come as no surprise to me that I do not remember my ordeal, only bits and pieces that filter through to me at random times and make no logical sense, but it frustrates me all the same. The harder I try to grasp them and make a complete picture, the more they seem to slip away. Hosea told me I was rambling, too feverish to think clearly, and I have no answers for him about any of it. I know it worries him that so much is left unknown, but Dutch seemed truly furious._

_The man has been stalking around for the past week now, and I know he is impatient to have me heal up and get me back out to working, as am I, though he seems to be listening to Hosea’s caution and keeps me in camp regardless of what needs getting done. Sitting here in bed or around camp leaves me feeling agitated, and I know he would never blame me for what happened, but I cannot help but feel as if it’s my fault for not healing up faster, or for getting captured in the first place. According to him, the business with the Gray’s and Braithwaite’s has been put on hold, waiting for when I am fit to work before they continue, and I can tell that the longer this goes on, the more Dutch worries that we are missing our chance at that_ _gold_ _. I cannot help but wonder if the gold, much like the meeting with Colm, is a trick and a waste of time. But I cannot say that to him now, or ever. He has his mind set, and I know too well by now that once Dutch has his eyes on something, he will go after it no matter what it takes._

_Thinking about this just wears on me, I feel as though I have disappointed him, even though he assures me I have not. I just wish I could remember what happened with Colm, or how I escaped. All I’m left with is pieces that do not fit into any puzzle I know. I remember a cellar, but that could be anywhere. And my dreams are haunted by a bright light, more than any time in the past few weeks. It leaves me feeling restless and worried, but I can’t place why. And every time I have a dream that starts to feel like a memory, I’m suddenly sucked up into the sky and nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t know if my mind is trying to come up with things to fill these gaps, but I sincerely wish it would not. I’m ashamed to admit it’s left me anxious at nightfall, and I have been leaving the lantern on my bedside burning all night._

_Whatever the cause, no matter what it may mean, I must focus on healing and getting back to work. I do not want to sit around camp for another day, but I must wait for my ankle to support my weight without pain, or so says Hosea and Susan. It was a clean break at least, and all it needs now is time. I am once again grateful to Charles for his help in keeping my sanity, I do not think I’d have been able to sit still so long if it weren’t for him. We haven’t had any real privacy, but we’ve been able to talk, and learn more about one another, and the more I find out about him the more I think I might be_ ~~_falling in love_~~ _growing to care for him even more, more than just a desire to kiss and touch him. I know I probably shouldn’t write such things, but he just does something to me to make me feel all light inside, and no one has ever done such a thing before._

_The small glimmer of hope I have for all of us getting away and starting a new life somewhere seems brighter with Charles in it._

\---

One month and a handful of days after being rescued, Arthur felt like he was going to tear his own hair out. His ankle was mostly healed and it only caused him a little bit of discomfort when he walked on it, just a bit tender, nothing some herbs wouldn’t fix. Hosea didn’t buy that, and Dutch had apparently been severely browbeaten into agreeing with the old man on this, worried that if Arthur overexerted himself he’d damage the still healing joint, but he just couldn’t take another day of sitting around in camp. 

He was up and over by the horses, leaning on his great big shire as he brushed the stallion down, murmuring to him softly under his breath. Beast, the loyal bastard, had made his way to camp shortly after Arthur had, the creature thirsty and hungry but no worse for wear, Arthur’s satchel tied around the saddle horn with all of his supplies inside of it. He didn’t remember doing that, but he must have as he doubted the O’Driscoll who had captured him had taken the time to secure his belongings to a horse as likely to bolt as to bite him. 

His hat had been missing from his belongings, and he’d initially mourned the loss of it in a way he knew was silly, but he couldn’t help it. It was such a staple of his daily dress that without it he felt somewhat naked. He still reached up to adjust it or tip it towards the girls whenever they had walked past him, and having his fingers meet empty air instead of familiar worn leather left him feeling a little off-kilter. He knew he could replace it, that trapper had all sorts of hats he’d be willing to make for Arthur, but nothing would really feel the same as his father’s old gamblers hat. He hadn’t even liked his father, but the one thing he’d been attached to - for reasons he couldn’t explain - was that hat.

Taima was close by, and it did not escape her notice when he passed a few sugar cubes to his stallion. She snuffed air through her nose and came over, nudging his arm and snuffing again. It brought a smile to his face and he laughed softly, petting down the soft velvety skin of her nose before reaching into his pocket and finding a few more sugar cubes, letting her munch them out of his palm with a happy flick of her ears.

“You’re still spoiling her?” He looked up from Taima’s spotty gray coat to see Charles making his way over, stopping next to Taima and loading his bow and an extra quiver of arrows onto her saddle, scratching the appaloosa behind her ears and stroking down her neck. Just like all the times before, Arthur felt all at once awkward and pleased to have Charles around, seeing the teasing smile on the other man’s lips, that subtle tilt of his mouth and the curve of his brows.

“No.” He replied with his own smile, and nodded his head towards the bow and arrows. “You goin’ out?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Arthur blinked, looking at Charles for a moment, before he glanced over to where he could see Dutch sitting outside his tent with a book in his hands. Hosea was over by the coffee, still looking half asleep. Charles seemed to understand where his train of thought was going, because he leaned in a little closer and nudged Arthur’s elbow with his own. 

“I owe you a trip, just the two of us, don’t I?” His voice pitched lower, and Arthur’s stomach did that funny little flip again as he thought about the promised hunting trip, all those weeks back.

“I... yeah, guess you do.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much help I’ll really be on a huntin’ trip though... can’t really sneak around too good right now.”

“Don’t worry about that, Arthur. I figure we’ll take a ride up north - I was thinking Big Valley - get you used to being in the saddle again, holding a weapon, and whatever happens, happens.” He sounded so very sure, and it wasn’t like this was a job. It was just a test, more or less, so perhaps Dutch and Hosea might loosen the tight choking grip they’d had on Arthur’s whereabouts for the past month.

“Y-yeah, I’ll go grab some things. How long d’you think we’ll be away?” He was excited for more than just getting out of camp. The time he’d spent talking to Charles and sharing things with him, it had made that funny flutter in his chest a full-blown burst of warmth.

“Shouldn’t be more than two or three days. Pack a coat.”

“Sure.”

He tried not to rush, didn’t want to seem as boyishly eager as he felt, and grabbed his winter coat, gloves, as well as a change of shirt just in case. He didn’t know what the weather would be like up in Big Valley at the moment, but he knew from experience it could go from cool and pleasant to a freezing downpour with little warning. 

When he returned, Charles was still standing by Taima, and Hosea was leaning against the post with a strangely stern look on his face, one that Arthur wasn’t sure he’d really seen before. 

“Uh, everythin’ alright?” He asked, taking in the tense posture that Charles had, the carefully blank expression, and how serious Hosea seemed. The older man turned to look at him and only smiled, and Arthur was struck with the sense he was being kept out of something. 

“Of course, Arthur, of course. I was just asking Charles when you two would be back. I hope you have fun on your trip, and bring us back something good!” He clapped a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder, giving him a subtle squeeze, before turning and walking towards Dutch’s tent.

Arthur stood there for a moment longer, confused about what had just transpired, and it was only Charles gently clearing his throat that got him moving back into action. 

He packed his things into Beasts saddle, gripping the saddlehorn and pausing as he tried to find the best way to lift himself up into the seat. He tried to do it normally, but it caused a brief shot of discomfort through his leg, and he quickly abandoned that idea. He tried his other leg, but it felt clumsy and off, and he gave a grunt of frustration. 

Charles’ hands were suddenly at his waist, holding him and nearly making him lose his balance completely. 

“Wh-what are you-?”

“On my count, okay?” Charles spoke softly into his ear, and Arthur fought against the surge of stubborn embarrassment that wanted to rise up. He wanted to say no, that he could do it himself... but he _was_ having trouble, and it was almost easier for Charles to offer the help instead of making Arthur ask for it. He nodded stiffly, and Charles began his count.

“One, two, _three_.” And with a muffled grunt and a heave, Arthur was up into the saddle. He kept his head ducked down, knowing how red his face must be, shamed at needing the help at all, but Charles didn’t say another word about it, and instead brought himself up onto Taima.

“Alright, let’s head out. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.” He hummed, and waited until Arthur nodded before turning the appaloosa and heading off into the trees at a brisk trot, Arthur following behind a moment later.

\---

The ride took hours, and it was getting dark by the time they crossed into Big Valley. Arthur was more than a little saddle sore, and his ankle ached a bit from being in the stirrup so long. The ride itself had been pleasant, with Charles and Arthur talking back and forth every so often, comfortably silent the rest of the time. Arthur had watched squirrels and rabbits scurry away from the sound of their horses, saw an elk off in the distance and pointed it out to Charles. A couple of foxes and some sort of bird were calling through the trees, all of it was a welcome change, all of it was calming and lovely to see and hear. Despite the discomfort of riding in the saddle after so long, despite the weariness that was creeping up on him, he’d needed something like this. A chance to breathe. Even the creeping worry that was trying to settle over his shoulders as the sun disappeared over the mountains couldn’t deter him from enjoying this peace.

“We should stop in Strawberry for the night, head out in the morning before first light to get a good start. There’s no telling how long it could take to track something.” Charles spoke up, breaking the easy silence that had descended upon them about an hour ago. 

Arthur turned to look at him, trying to hide his wince at moving that little bit in the saddle, but Charles caught it, of course he did. His gaze lingered over Arthur in a nearly protective way, and Arthur fought to remain sturdy in his posture.

“You sure? We could always find a spot to set up camp.” He suggested, but it seemed pointless, Charles having already made up his mind.

“Yeah, but it might be nice to get a room with a real bed in it while we have the chance.”

Arthur really couldn’t argue with that. The thought of something soft and warm, with a roof and walls and everything, well, that sounded very nice. Usually he didn’t really care one way or another, but today he felt like he could stand to spend the few dollars it would cost.

“If you’re sure about it.” 

“I’m sure.” Charles was smiling at him, and Arthur smiled back. A little strained with pain, but honest. Charles made it easy to feel like smiling, somehow. Made it easy to feel a lot of things.

As they rode into town and stopped their horses outside of the hotel, Charles was already out of his saddle and standing beside Beast before Arthur could so much as attempt to get down himself. 

“Charles, really, I can manage.” He tried to brush him off, but Charles just gave him a look that made him feel entirely see-through.

“It’s no trouble, Arthur. Let me help.” He was so kind, so helpful, and for some reason that irked Arthur just a bit. He didn’t like feeling helpless, and he knew Charles wasn’t trying to make him feel like an invalid, but it was just so hard to adjust to needing assistance. Once his ankle was fully healed he’d be sure to never ask for help again, but right now he didn’t have a whole lot of options. The worst thing he could do is be a stubborn ass and fall on his face into the mud, possibly hurting himself and extending his healing time even more.

He took Charles’ offered hand, his cheeks hot as he did so, and let the man help support his weight as he shifted himself down from his tall shire. He nearly stumbled, but Charles caught him, putting a steadying hand behind his back and bringing him close to his chest. 

“I’ve got you.”

Arthur could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest, a nice sound and a nice feeling. Being in Charles’ arms was nice, too, and even if they were in public, out in the open, it was alright just to take a moment to enjoy this, right? He thought of all the kisses they’d shared in his tent as Arthur recovered, when no one was looking, soft and gentle and different from that first time, secretive and without shame. When it was just the two of them, Arthur wasn’t ashamed. 

“Why don’t you go inside and get a room?” He was still speaking so softly, quiet enough that Arthur knew no one else could hear what he was saying. “Light the lamp in the window so I know which one, and I’ll come up after you. Order a bath as well, and take your time.” His hand snaked down Arthur’s back, just the barest hint of a touch, featherlight over his backside before Charles withdrew completely. 

Something must have misfired in Arthur’s head, because he couldn’t form any words, his tongue just a useless lump in his mouth, too big and dumb for anything resembling speech. He just looked at Charles, forcing himself to nod, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Charles only smiled at him, turning and walking towards the general store and leaving Arthur on the front step of the hotel. It took far longer than he would’ve liked to admit to get himself back to anything resembling intelligence, and even so, he still felt far too warm beneath the collar of his shirt. 

He limped lightly up the steps and entered the tacky and overly decorated main room, walking up to the man behind the counter and slapping down the required one dollar and 25 cents for a room and a bath, only nodding his head at the proprietor's acceptance and directions. 

He went to the room first, dropping off his things and grabbing one of the towels set up in the dresser, waiting a few minutes and anxiously smoking a cigarette as he lit the lamp by the window, before he figured the bath would be ready and made his way through the hall and into the steamy room.

He shut the door behind him and just stood there, letting the warm mist gather over his face. 

Charles had seemed to imply... At least, Arthur _thought_ he was implying something. Maybe he wasn’t at all, just commenting on Arthur’s need for a bath. Arthur wasn’t sure, didn’t know if he should assume anything at all. He didn’t want to look like a fool, but then again, didn’t he always when Charles was concerned?

He was embarrassed at just the thought of what they might do, slipping out of his clothes and into the hot, soapy tub, settling in and giving a small groan of appreciation at the way the hot water seemed to sink into his aching joints. He let himself soak for a few minutes and enjoyed this rare luxury before starting to wash himself. As he scrubbed himself down, watching as the water turned darker with all the filth coming off of him, he was very glad that Charles had suggested this, no matter what his intentions were. Arthur hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks, using a cloth and a bucket while in camp, and before then he couldn’t exactly recall. He didn’t like to be dirty, but rivers and lakes were good enough when he was out on the road, and he often didn’t have time to spend seeking out towns with hotels to take a bath. But it was so very nice, and he ran his hands over his legs to clean them, letting his fingers drift up his thighs. 

If Charles had asked him to take a bath, did he want Arthur to clean... everywhere? It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t do it anyway, but knowing it might have a purpose set his heart stuttering just a little. 

Bright red, he did his best to make sure every inch of him was clean before he got out of the bath, toweling off as best as he could before slipping his clothes back on and hurrying back to the room. Charles didn’t seem to be there yet, so he just took off his boots and placed them by the bed, standing there for a moment, feeling unsure. He supposed Charles didn’t want to be seen entering a room rented by another man, probably safer that way for a multitude of reasons. Still, it left him with too much nervous energy and nowhere to direct it, anticipation and trepidation warring for prominence in his gut.

Arthur paced slightly, his bare feet making a soft sound on the wooden floor as he walked back and forth, chewing his lip and running his fingers through his hair. What should he be doing? Maybe Charles expected him to know more about this, and there was something he ought to be doing to prepare? He had no idea, however, and just stopped short as he caught sight of himself in the mirror that sat atop the dresser.

Relatively tall, broad chested with hair that hung nearly down to his shoulders. Not the biggest man, but he generally didn’t need to be. But his face was... well. Sour. Old. Scarred up and worn.

“You ugly bastard.” He sighed to himself, stepping a little closer to his unfortunate reflection. “You really think he wants you?” How could Charles - gorgeous and capable Charles - find anything appealing in Arthur? Sure, he was able to get a job done, but that hadn’t been enough for Mary. Maybe he’d let his heart run away from his head again, maybe he was just going to end up getting hurt once Charles, too, decided Arthur wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t good enough for one reason or another. And how old was Charles anyway? At least Mary was a comparable age, but Charles was younger, had more to look forward to... was he really looking forward to spending his future with Arthur? Was that something he even thought about? They’d kissed, but they hadn’t spoken about... what either of them expected. Arthur didn’t know what he expected, was Charles the same? Or did he perhaps only want something for now? Would Arthur take that, even if the thought of Charles moving on set a pang in his heart?

“You sour faced idiot... you ain’t foolin’ no one.” He swallowed, his nerves trying to erupt from his skin as he watched his brows crease and his mouth tilt downwards. Maybe this was a mistake. He couldn’t imagine Charles brought him all the way out here just to make a fool of him, but Arthur already knew he could do a magnificent job of that himself.

The window slid shut and Arthur jumped and spun around, not having even realized it was open. Charles stood there with a bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands, a stern look on his face.

“Is that really how you feel?” Charles asked, walking across the room towards Arthur and setting the bundle on the bed. 

Arthur wished the floor would open up and let him drop into it, shame burning hot across the back of his neck. He couldn’t meet Charles’ eye, and turned his face away, swallowing thickly and shrugged. 

“Didn’t know you was there...” He mumbled, and Charles just hummed. 

“Clearly.” He stopped right in front of Arthur, close enough they were almost chest to chest, and Charles slowly reached up and took Arthur’s chin between his fingers, tilting his head to look him in the eye, blue and brown, the sky and the warm earth. 

“Do you think I find you ugly?” He asked, and the question was so blunt and so bold that Arthur felt it like a punch to the gut. He dropped his eyes to the floor, and Charles tsked softly. “Oh, Arthur... maybe I should have just come out and said it.” Charles kept his light grip on Arthur’s chin as he walked forwards, herding Arthur back up against the dresser and pressing against him. Arthur looked up, startled, and got caught in that burning gaze.

“You’re beautiful.” Charles whispered, leaning in close, brushing his lips against Arthur’s but not bringing them together just yet, moving upwards to whisper against the shell of his ear. “I find you strong and kind. I find you endearing, and _very_ attractive. You’re smart - even if you like to play dumb - and I know that you’re not as cruel as this life could have made you. I enjoy spending time with you, Arthur. I like you very much.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he knew how to breathe anymore.

What was he supposed to say to that? To... _any_ of that? This wasn’t just empty flattery, Charles didn’t need to butter him up and they both knew it. But that meant that Charles actually meant these things. It was a concept Arthur didn’t know what to do with. His chest was tight and his stomach felt warm and squirming like he’d eaten a handful of live moths.

“Come here.” Charles’ breath was back on his lips, and then he was kissing him. Soft sweetness on his mouth that made his lips tingle. Passionate and slow, Charles’ firm body pressing him against the dresser, holding him there, hands on his waist. Charles kissed him until Arthur’s thoughts slowed and his brain felt like mush, until his awareness narrowed down to the man in front of him and everything else became hazy and unclear. It was only then that Charles pulled away, with one last lingering brush of his lips across Arthur’s mouth. 

He was breathless, like Charles had tilted the floor on its head and shaken everything around, unsteady and off-balance in perhaps the best way imaginable. Kissing Charles was like simplifying the world, even if it should have made things more complicated. Kissing Mary had been _very_ complicated, but Charles was just... natural.

Leading him by the waist, Charles walked him backwards to the bed until the soft mattress hit the back of his knees, and he gently pushed him down. He crowded in on him, arms by Arthur’s head, and descended to his neck to kiss the skin there and make Arthur shudder, goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Charles...” He sighed, and the other man gave a purring hum. Those large hands roamed over his torso, finding the buttons to his straining shirt and deftly undoing them, exposing his chest to the air and taking a handful in each palm as the kisses on his neck became harder and wetter. 

“Beautiful.” Charles muttered against his flesh, sucking a mark right below his jaw that had Arthur gasping and scrambling to grip Charles’ back. He felt the jolting pinch of teeth, startling a moan out of his throat.

“Charles.” Arthur was panting softly, didn’t know how Charles was able to do this to him with so little. Heat traveled through his body with every beat of his heart, a growing urgency that made him squirm the longer Charles touched and kissed him. He’d never been like this before, not with anyone, but Charles seemed to know the tune to play to turn him into this needy thing that he hardly recognized.

Charles’ hands moved, pulling off Arthur’s shirt the rest of the way and tossing it aside, sliding those calloused fingertips down his sides and grasping the hem of his pants, popping the buttons open and tugging them down to his knees. Arthur was hard, and the cool air hitting his hard and heated flesh wrung a groan from his lips, made his hips twitch upwards ever so slightly. Arthur’s fingers felt clumsy and shaky as he tried to follow suit, struggling with the buttons on Charles’ shirt and somehow managing to undo them enough to tug it off the man’s broad shoulders. And then it became a flurry of hands and lips and sighs, belts being undone and clothes being pulled off, and then Charles was kneeling over him, both of them naked and flushed. Those smoldering brown eyes raked over Arthur’s body in a way so intimate that Arthur wanted to hide his face like some virginal milkmaid. 

He didn’t think he was much to look at compared to Charles’ wide and sturdy body, smooth dark skin that shone in the yellow light of the lamps and hair that shimmered like water in the night, black and smooth and flowing, but Charles seemed to disagree. He touched Arthur’s face gently, trailing his thumb over Arthur’s burning cheek, pulling away to get the full view, and Arthur gave in to his embarrassment and turned his head, covering his face with both hands. He heard Charles give a soft hum of laughter, gentle and fond. 

“Arthur.” He kissed the backs of Arthur’s hands before stepping away. “Slide up the bed a little.” A gentle nudge against his hips, and Arthur took a moment to try and compose himself before he did as instructed; peeling his hands away from his face and moving until he was resting against the headboard. He watched Charles grab something from his pants pocket before crawling up the bed towards him, gently pushing Arthur’s knees apart and nestling between them.

“Charles... I ain’t never... done... this kinda thing before...” Arthur stammered, pulse racing as he looked up at Charles. They were really going to do this. Charles and him were really about to...

The other man just hummed. “I know.” He opened up a tin of something and set it to the side. His hair fell over his shoulder as he leaned in to press a kiss to the center of Arthur’s chest, between the swell of his pecs, whispering against his heated skin. “I won’t hurt you, Arthur. Just relax and let me make you feel good.” Another kiss over his heart, and then Charles’ lips latched around his nipple, and Arthur gave a pleasantly startled gasp, his cock jerking between his legs at the shock of arousal that ran through him. Charles’ mouth was hot and wet, and he ran his tongue in circles around the hardened bud.

“Oh,” That wasn’t a sensation Arthur had ever felt before, hadn’t expected it to feel like a line running from his chest straight to the tip of his prick, and Charles practically purred into the flesh of his breast. His big hand was sliding up the inside of Arthur’s thigh, going higher and higher until his fingers - slicked with something from that tin - were running up and down Arthur’s hole. He tensed, breath hitching, and Charles brought his head up and looked Arthur in the eye. 

“Relax for me, sweet thing.” He whispered, voice like a siren call, patient and calm. “I’ll open you up for it, I won’t let it hurt.” He pressed a little bit, not pushing inside but just adding pressure, and Arthur bit his bottom lip and nodded. 

The anxiety of this moment was butting up against the desire, but Charles’ gentle and soothing tone helped him, the pet name causing a flare of heat to cross his face, and he covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow and tried his best to relax his muscles.

It started with one finger, slowly pressing in and getting him used to the sensation, Arthur biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making any of the small, embarrassing noises that were trying to rise up. And then another was added soon after, odd but not bad. Charles moved them slowly, stroking him from the inside and whispering to him, breath sounding heavy.

“That’s it, Arthur. So sweet. Ready for another?” He waited until Arthur gave him a nod before adding more. It was a bit uncomfortable now, but that was steadily eased the more Charles moved them, and it was replaced by an altogether new sensation. It was a subtle and deep feeling, and it took Arthur a few minutes to really get used to it enough to realize he liked it, to understand that the pressure was nice and made him feel good like Charles had promised. Charles must have been able to tell the moment Arthur came to that conclusion, because he moved his fingers a little faster, curling them and pressing upwards until he found what he was looking for.

“ _Ah!_ ” Arthur jolted, hips twitching up as a flash of heat and pleasure fired off low in his belly. 

“There it is.” Charles whispered, looking far too satisfied with himself as he began to press his fingers into that spot, and Arthur began to squirm and gasp. He was unable to help but rock his hips with that feeling, bucking up into nothing.

“Christ, Charles!” He groaned. He had no idea what Charles was touching, how he was even doing this, but it was a pleasure like no other, and when Charles slowly pulled his fingers out and grasped his own cock, slicking himself up, Arthur readily spread his thighs. If there would be more of that, then he would accept it eagerly.

One hand holding himself and the other holding Arthur’s hip, Charles nudged his blunt tip against Arthur’s slicked hole and looked carefully at his face. Charles looked flushed and slightly dishevelled, and it was a look Arthur had never seen but suddenly craved. Charles had called him beautiful, and yet Arthur couldn’t think of a better word to describe the man above him.

“Ready for me?” He asked, and Arthur could only nod, wasn’t sure he had the presence of mind to use many of his words right now. The younger man tilted his head forward and groaned deep in his chest and slowly, carefully, pushed inside, giving a shudder as his inches sunk inside, Arthur’s mouth falling open at the feeling of being so stretched and full, at the smooth, hot glide of him until Charles’ hips met the back of Arthur’s thighs.

“Oh, Arthur...” He sighed, and grasped Arthur’s legs behind his knees, bringing them up a little higher. He waited a moment, and then slowly began to pull out, rocking his hips back in with a slow, smooth motion. 

Charles was big. Maybe not that much bigger than Arthur, but it certainly seemed like he was when he had himself fully hilted inside Arthur’s body. It was a pleasure he felt deep in his belly that made him grasp at the bed sheets and give a humiliating noise from the back of his throat, but he couldn’t help it. It felt _good_ , and it was Charles that was giving this to him, this pleasure and this care. Charles had been gentle, had made sure it wouldn’t hurt, and none of it really had. Charles who was looking down at him like he’d hung the moon itself, Charles who was speeding up now and making the bed creak slightly. 

“Ah! Ah, Ch-Charles,” Arthur gasped, panting harder now, his body taking what Charles was giving him and seemingly wanting more, leaving him with an achingly hard cock between his legs. His body rocked up the bed slightly at each thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin so loud in the room, Arthur’s blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding beneath his ribs. The meat of his chest was bouncing with it all, and Charles was watching all of it, eyes locked on Arthur as the man’s hips seemed to move almost on their own.

“Look at you.” Charles’ voice was reverent and heavy, punctuated with gasps and soft moans. “Look at how good you are for me.” He lifted Arthur’s legs up higher and snapped his hips forward, striking against that spot and Arthur could swear all the air had been punched from his lungs as he gave a throaty moan, tilting his head back into the pillows, his hands gripping and pulling at the sheets.

“Oh Christ, oh, _Charles!_ ” Arthur wasn’t sure how much more he could take, that desperate coil building low in his belly burning hot like an iron brand, Charles moving so good and filling him so wonderfully, his body tensing up, sweat gleaming off his neck and chest. He heard Charles groan deeply, pressing into him even harder with each thrust, as if trying to dig out a spot shaped just for him in Arthur’s guts.

“That’s it Arthur... just like that...” He whispered, voice tight, eyes still locked on the man beneath him, and Arthur didn’t have the sense to try and muffle himself, moaning and making sounds that could cause a whore to blush, but Charles seemed to drink it all in, leaning closer, folding Arthur nearly in half. He started to press hot, feverish kisses along Arthur’s neck and jaw, biting and sucking below his ear, and Arthur released the blankets to throw his arms around Charles’ shoulders.

“G-god, oh god, Charles, I’m-!” He could feel it, could feel the way his body was getting tighter, what Charles was doing to him was pushing him towards a release that was better than any other, the build up making him rock his hips and whimper. And then Charles hummed low against his neck and reached between them, grasping Arthur’s neglected cock and giving firm, quick strokes, and Arthur was coming undone. He trembled and cried, eyes shut tight and stars bursting in his vision, the sounds of the room muffling as he spilled thick and messy over Charles’ fist, his entire body pulsing and tensing. 

Charles moaned into his skin, rutting and grinding into him through it all, sheathing himself as deeply as he could and staying there, shudders rolling through him as he breathed hot and fast, and Arthur could feel the length of his cock twitching, could feel a heat spreading into him and knew that Charles had finished inside him. The thought made him moan again, soft and weak and truly sated, his voice a bit rough from the pleasure he’d shot all over himself.

The moment lingered, but eventually Charles sighed and relaxed, pulling away from Arthur and laying on the bed beside him, his cock soft and slipping out with a small trickle of his spend leaking out after. Arthur clenched himself tight, embarrassed to let it run all over the sheets, but he felt too good and loose to really do much else. He wanted to lay there with Charles longer, but the man slowly got up, walking over to the wash basin on legs that seemed a bit wobbly, returning with a damp cloth and running it over Arthur’s stomach, cleaning him off. 

He paused at something, but finished what he was doing and came to lay back with Arthur before he spoke, his voice low and tired.

“What’s this scar?” he asked, and Arthur needed a moment to understand how to work his tongue again, glancing down at the line Charles was tracing across his belly. A long thin line just below his belly button, almost invisible but notably pinker than the rest of his skin. He looked for a moment, but couldn’t recall where it might have come from, and shrugged. 

“Dunno. Don’t care.” He wrapped his arms around Charles again and pulled him closer, causing the younger man to give a fond, breathy laugh, and they quickly fell asleep nestled in each other’s arms.

\---

In the morning Charles left through the window as he’d come in, and Arthur spent a good few minutes just lounging in the bed, looking up at the ceiling and feeling the spot next to him quickly cooling with its emptiness. 

Last night had been... well, nothing like Arthur had ever felt before. Of course he had expected that, what with it being his first time with another man, but there was more to it than just that. Charles had made him feel... special. Wanted. He’d taken care of Arthur in ways that no one had ever done, lover or not, had left him with his head spinning and his body singing, and Arthur wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he could ever go back to how things had been before. Because now, he knew for certain. 

He was head over heels in love with Charles Smith.

Maybe he was a fool for needing sex to finally decide, or maybe he was just a man. Either way, it didn’t matter. His heart had made its choice, and just like everything his heart decided, Arthur knew he couldn’t change it, not through stubbornness or force of will. All he could do now was hope that Charles felt the same. But with how the man had treated him last night, the things he’d said... he didn’t think there were any doubts. 

It set his stomach fluttering, and he slowly got up and began to gather his clothes. He had a slightly embarrassing moment when, as he stood to dress, a hot trickle had begun dripping down his thigh and he had to quickly find the cloth Charles had used last night to clean himself up, red in the face as he touched his delightfully sore backside. But eventually he was more or less put together, and with his satchel hung around his shoulder he made his way down the stairs, a bit more of a limp in his step than the day before. 

The clerk at the counter eyed him with furrowed brows, and Arthur glared back reflexively. It was only as he was walking down the steps outside that he realized what the man might have had a problem with. He might’ve been... loud...

Well, just another town to never show his face in again.

Charles was waiting by the horses, looking up as he came over and giving him a smile that put his heart in his throat. All glittering dark eyes and warm lips.

“Good morning, Arthur.” He looked and sounded so composed, so normal, and Arthur knew that if it wasn’t for the subtle ache between his legs that he would have doubted all of last night as a dream.

“Mornin’.” He cleared this throat, still a bit gravelly, and went to greet Beast, rubbing his nose and whispering to him and privately trying to figure out what on earth to say to Charles. He hadn’t considered that he would still be so dumbstruck by the other man as to be unable to think of something to say other than a greeting. His ears felt hot, and he could feel Charles’ eyes on him even as he kept his own gaze on his horse. He wasn’t trying to ignore him, he just... well, what did he say to the man who’d made love to him the night before?

Charles didn’t seem to take offence to it, and if anything his smile widened as he stepped closer, both of them sheltered between their horses. Charles dared to take his hand, threading their fingers together as he looked at him, and Arthur felt his heartbeat thundering against his ribs.

“I have something for you.” Charles spoke, reaching out with his other hand to the odd shaped bundle from last night that was now sitting on Taima’s saddle. Arthur watched as he unwrapped the cloth and his eyes widened, something choking up in his throat at the sight of it. 

His hat. But not just his hat, Charles had taken the old fraying rope he’d wound around the crown of it and meticulously beaded the thing, decorating it with colors and a few feathers braided into the end where it had frayed the worst, now better than simply fixed, turning it into a beautiful work of art that had Arthur stunned. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get this back to you, I wanted to finish it.” Charles gently settled the hat on top of his head. He knew it was silly, but he finally felt complete with the old worn leather once more a part of his person, and he tried to make his mouth catch up with his brain instead of gaping like a fish. 

His chest swelled with emotion; gratitude and shock and that warm blooming he knew now to be love.

“Thank you, Charles, I... this is the kindest...” He struggled to put words to his feelings, but Charles didn’t appear to mind his clumsy attempt, only smiling at him and giving his hand a squeeze before letting it drop. 

“You’re welcome, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had THREE separate drafts for this chapter, full complete chapters that I ended up scrapping for one reason or another. It was very hard to write the smut and I hope it's good! There will be more smut, but you're going to have to wait a few chapters for it lol, there is a plot to get through after all :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly a plot driven chapter, as are the next few. I don't particularly like them, but I sort of feel like I have to put them in to get *my* plot going where I want it to lol. So please bear with me.

Actually hunting with Charles had taken another day, and by the time they returned to camp with enough meat to feed everyone well for a few days, Arthur was completely worn through. The ache in his ankle was expected, though the twinges he felt in his lower back and between his legs were not. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it made riding in a saddle  _ highly _ uncomfortable. Every time Arthur thought about why he was sore, though, his face felt hot and he would glance over at Charles with a flutter in his chest. Sometimes the man would be looking back, and Arthur would smile at him, feeling shy and stupid for it, but Charles hardly seemed to mind.

The other man had been very clear how much he cared for Arthur that night, and while Arthur still worried over how long it would last, he couldn’t help but want to selfishly enjoy it while he could. Charles was more than he could ever hope to ask for, a better man than Arthur had any right to be around, and he almost felt like he was leeching off of his goodness by being so close to him, that he had tricked Charles somehow into thinking Arthur was worth the affection, but he didn’t want to say anything about it just in case Charles agreed. It was a silly fear, probably, but one he could not help.

Returning to camp gave Arthur only one day of rest before Dutch cornered him by the coffee pot the next morning - once again interrupting his breakfast - and smoothly demanded he check in with the Grays, as was his usual way of asking Arthur to do things. If he hadn’t known Dutch as well as he did, it would have sounded like a request. Perhaps to other members of camp it did, but Arthur knew better. He found he didn’t mind, though. The few days he’d had with Charles had been enough to rid him of the anxious energy that had been building during his recovery, and set his heart lighter than it had been since... well, perhaps since the first time he’d met Mary. If anyone noticed his lack of bite or his easy acceptance, no one commented, even if Hosea had given him a long look that ended with a smile. 

“Glad you’re back, Arthur.” And that was all.

His ankle was still sore but he managed to get up into his saddle alright, heading into the trees with a candy in his mouth. Charles was keeping watch that morning, and Arthur halted Beast for a moment to look down at him.

“Everything good, Charles?” He asked, hoping to sound as casual and normal as possible. The younger man turned his head up to him and gave a flicker of a smile. 

“Sure, Arthur. Headed out?” Charles’ eyes darted to the repeater on Beasts saddle and the rifle on Arthur’s back, before moving up to meet his eyes. 

“Yeah, some business with the Grays. Guess we’re still on that.” He shrugged.

“Be safe.” And it was such a simple phrase, a normal one, but Arthur wondered if he was reading too much into it, detected a softness that wasn’t actually there. Either way he nodded, giving the man a lopsided grin.

“You know me.” He teased, and Charles just rolled his eyes at that, making Arthur’s grin widen.

“I do, and that’s why I’m making sure to remind you.”

He just laughed, gently giving Beast a tap on his flanks and giving a small wave to Charles, heading out towards Rhodes where he was supposed to be meeting up with Bill, Sean, and Micah to speak with Sheriff Gray about... something. Arthur didn’t know what, apparently he’d find out once he was there. It was somewhat annoying, but he was in too good of a mood to really care about the lack of information.

The ride was easy and short, and once he arrived in the dusty old town he saw the three men standing outside the bank with their horses. He stopped a few paces away and dismounted, hitching Beast alongside the other three stallions.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Arthur.” Micah spoke up as Arthur straightened his hat, beads clicking softly, and he scoffed slightly under his breath. 

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you.” He drawled. He saw Sean eye the beading before flashing Arthur that cocky grin he liked to wear. Arthur quirked his lips in return as Micah moved off the steps of the bank, assuming the others would follow.

“What’s the plan?” He asked, falling into step beside Sean. The town seemed oddly empty for the time of day; he didn’t see many people out in the streets or riding by on horses, and the usual noise of everyday business seemed somehow absent. Was it a Sunday or something?

“We’re meeting a couple of the Grays over by the saloon. They spoke to Bill about a job; needing security.” Micah answered, hands on his belt buckle as he swaggered in a manner that made Arthur want to wrinkle his nose.

“After the farce of stealin’ the horses for ‘em, why we doin’ this?” Arthur turned his head slightly, watching a few people on porches and stoops, and he noticed that despite the streets being empty, there were plenty of people watching them walk by. Not in church, then... 

“‘Cus we need to stay in with them, and they’re paying.” Micah explained with a sneering impatience that had Arthur bristling. He hated that tone, slimy and drawn out like an eel.

“So what kinda security they want?” Arthur pushed, this whole thing seeming more and more like a bad idea. He’d at least expected Bill or Micah to  _ know _ what job they were going to pick up, but seeing the men whose job this was know as little as he did just sat wrong in the pit of his gut.

“We’re about to find out, now come on.” Arthur could tell that Micah was frustrated with his questions, but he wasn’t about to let it go, didn’t want to walk into another damned trap because he was worried about seeming like a  _ ‘Doubting Thomas’ _ as Micah had put it before.

“This seem legit to you, Bill?” He turned his head to the burly man, but Micah cut Bill off before he’d even had a chance to finish opening his mouth.

“Sure. Dutch said we was to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold.” Of course Micah would be more concerned with  _ the gold _ than the stink of something rotten this whole town gave off, decayed ideals and decayed morals overlaid with the golden filigree of opportunity.

“Can we trust them?” Sean piped up, voice quiet, sharing the same brand of suspicion that Arthur carried over his shoulders, heavier with every step.

“Can we trust anyone?” He replied, and Sean gave a soft murmur of agreement as Micah turned his head to glare at Arthur, who just stared back, unwavering.

“Let’s just see what they say.” The blond sighed through his nose and curled his lip in a soundless snarl, clearly not enjoying having to field so many doubts and questions, but he wasn’t Dutch, as much as he might wish he was, and Arthur wasn’t about to trust his judgement. Not after what had happened last time.

“They said there was some... big misunderstanding about them horses.” Bill said finally, looking between Arthur and Micah and naturally oblivious to the tension, fool that he was.

“And... what about burnin’ their fields?” Sean quipped, receiving a glare and a sharp hiss from Micah.

“They don’t know we had anything to do with that.” His volume lowered along with his eyebrows, and Arthur shook his head.

“Oh, that so?” Arthur didn’t believe that for a moment. They may have been inbred hillbillies, but they weren’t as stupid as Dutch seemed to think they were. And whatever attention they were calling to themselves by working jobs with these families was certainly not the favorable kind.

“Yeah, they think it was the Braithwaites.” Bill nodded his head as he spoke, agreeing with Micah easily, not having a single critical thought of his own. “Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now, this is on the level.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of some ancient feud, but ‘stead of playin’ both sides, we’re bein’ used by both of ‘em.” This wasn’t a good idea, he didn’t trust this potential job at all, but there was no way he could just leave the other three when Dutch expected him to be there. The best he could hope for was that they could get this job and finish it without any disasters, and then maybe he could try to talk to Hosea about how wrong it all felt.

Hadn’t that been his thoughts going into that parley as well, though? Maybe he should stop this now.

“They were sayin’ that Catherine Braithwaite-” Bill started, but Arthur shushed him quickly, coming to a standstill in the middle of the road.

“Hold up.” He hissed, and the other three stopped as well, turning to look at him with varying degrees of curiosity and irritation. 

It was his responsibility as the senior member of the gang to call off a rotten job, and to put the safety of those he ran with before the potential gain - if there even  _ was _ any in this case. And Arthur felt too many eyes on him without being able to account for all the faces he knew must be looking. It was more than just the distrustful stares they were used to; yankees on Southern soil. No, there was something else going on here... Empty streets and full windows...

“This don’t feel right...” Arthur muttered, preparing to call the whole thing off, and Sean gave a huff. 

“Now it don’t feel right?” He repeated with a raised eyebrow and a downward tilt to his mouth. “I could have told you-”

Cut off by a single gunshot and a splatter of red, Sean went down, and then all Hell broke loose. A sniper on a nearby roof, two more gunmen coming out from behind a parked wagon, many more filtering out of doorways behind them and cutting off their route back to the horses.

“Shit! Get down!” Arthur shouted, Bill and Micah scattering to cover as he ran behind some barrels stacked in front of a house. There was no time to think or plan or rationalize, panic and anger pulsing rabbit-quick in his veins. Arthur breathed out and let the world simplify to the sound of bullets ringing in his ears and the rush of adrenaline that steadied his hands. 

Keep calm, keep focused. 

He counted heads and fired, quick as the recoil of his gun would allow, barely spending a moment to watch as men crumpled to the ground before turning to the next target.

He heard Bill shout somewhere to his left, a cry of pain and a curse. “I can’t believe you shot me, you bastards!”

“You okay?” Arthur called out, knowing that if Bill was still complaining he was still fine, still alive, but the risk of getting a bullet through the head didn’t let him peek from his cover and check for himself.

“I’m fine!” Bill snarled back, as expected, and then shouted something about Sean that sounded garbled and wrong in Arthur’s ears, and he didn’t have the time to think about it, couldn’t look at the figure still laying in the dirt; he hadn’t gotten up yet, hadn’t quipped or shouted or whooped with a wild brogue as he fired off that pistol he still hadn’t gotten very good at using.

“How could you not think this was a trap?!” He roared above the gunfire, heard Micah respond but didn’t care to listen. He had to focus on eliminating the threat, on surviving long enough to get out.

A few men were holing up in the gun store across the street, and Arthur burst from his cover the second he was able, rushing in and tackling the nearest man as he appeared from behind a row of shelves, pinning him to the floor with his legs. He pressed the muzzle of his revolver against the man’s temple and ejected brain matter out the other side before turning his gun on the others. One, two, Micah coming through the front door and cutting down three and four, both of them taking momentary cover beneath the windows and trying to catch their breath.

They barely got a moment before more men came pouring into the street, firing on the building and shattering the glass above Arthur’s head. He ducked down and counted the shots, only rising up out of cover when he knew they would have to stop and reload, picking them off and doing his best to ignore Micah’s snide remarks. 

Him - sloppy.  _ Really? _ This whole damn thing was Micah’s fault, this whole blasted endeavour. Spoiled right from the start and they’d been too blinded by greed to see all the flies. Fury was welling up, his vision going hazy and focused at the same time, and he blocked out Micah’s voice and Micah’s body and the redhead he could still spot laying motionless in the street.

Click back the hammer, aim, pull the trigger, repeat. Once, twice, three times, over and over. Blooms of red and the dull thud of bodies hitting rusty dirt. He pushed back out into the street, not enough of them left to force him behind cover now, fewer and fewer as the moments swept by in a dragging flurry, a rush of things moving too slow.

Micah was still talking, and it took Arthur a few seconds to realize that there was no one else shooting at him, no one left to gun down. 

“See that? Those cowards are running away.” Micah chuckled darkly, his words ending in a victorious bite, and Arthur turned his head finally, lowering his gun just a bit but by no means trusting this to be over. The once empty street was now littered with bodies, the air smelling like copper and death.

“Looks like most of ‘em.” Arthur breathed between his teeth, turning careful eyes to rooftops and alleyways, walking through the town back towards the Sheriffs office and one body in particular he refused to look down at.

“Not all of them.” Micah was right behind him, gleeful in the face of all this bloodshed, the shine of his teeth like a cougar’s grin.

“Sheriff Gray...” A thunderous growl from the depths of Arthur’s chest, jaw clenching as he stalked towards the front of the building. “And what about Bill? Where the Hell’s he?” He didn’t want to consider it, but if that moron had gotten himself killed after all...

“We’ll find him later.” Micah sounded so unconcerned, not caring one way or another if the little group of four they had walked into town with today was now halved. Instead, he seemed to thrive in this bounty of corpses, giving out a mocking crow as he walked with Arthur.

“Sheriff Gray! You need to get a hold on this town, it’s going to Hell!” He cackled like a coyote, and Arthur bristled next to him.

“Who do you think you are?!” Leigh Gray shouted from inside the door to the Sheriff’s office, muffled but openly panicked. “A bunch of two-bit thugs from God-knows-where? You’re so dumb to think we don’t know what you been doin’!”

“Come out Sheriff!” Micah barked, and Arthur kept his finger on the trigger. “It’s over!”

“We put down far worse than you, a hundred times over!” Was the answering cry, stubborn and frightened, all damaged pride and desperate anger. “This is the Gray’s town, always has been, always will be!”

He knew they were watching from the windows, however many may still be inside, and he wasn’t willing to take his eyes off the place. Silent and still as Micah became the center of their attention, spreading his arms wildly beside him and gesturing to the graveyard they’d made of the street. 

“The only Grays I see left around here is you!” He snarled with that wide grin, and was met with a beat of silence. Arthur’s focus remained steadfast on the doorway.

“You want us to come out? We’ll come out!” The door creaked as it was pushed open, and Arthur’s reflex to lift his gun and fire sputtered and stalled as Bill was led in front, held at the point of the Sheriff’s pistol.

“Guns on the ground, now! Both of you!” The Sheriff and four other men came and took position on the porch, so confident in their bargaining chip that they didn’t even realize how neat a line they all made.

“Don’t do it!” Bill shouted, pointless as anything. 

“You know we can’t do that.  _ You _ put the gun down, Sheriff.” Arthur’s hand tightened on his gun, finger itching on the trigger, eyes locked on Leigh Gray’s pale and sweating face. He knew the kind of man the Sheriff was, and he was ready when the threat came tumbling out from those trembling lips.

“I’ll blow his brains out!”

And that was all the prompting Arthur needed. Easy as breathing, he lifted his gun and fired - one, two, three, four. All the men dropped before they had a chance, and Bill was left standing and splattered in blood. 

“Shit.” He breathed, rubbing a rough hand over his face to clear the sticky red matter, and Arthur turned away from him.

So many bodies. And for what? Gold that he was now  _ sure _ they would never get their hands on? They’d nearly lost Bill, and...

He forced his feet to move, walking towards the one form he had avoided until now. A small pool of thick and sticky blood beneath red hair, a gory mess where his right eye had been. He saw the point in Sean’s skull where the bullet had exited, right out the back, always bigger and more devastating than the entrance point.

He kneeled in front of him, an ache in his chest. “He was a good kid...” Annoying at times, loud and brash and cocksure, but good. Young, too. Very young. Why was it that Sean and Mac and Davey and Jenny were all gone now, and yet Arthur - sour and old and bitter as he was - still remained?

“Well, how the Hell was I to know?” Bill was pale and shaken, growling as he picked up the rifle he’d dropped, and Arthur’s grief flared into anger as quick as the strike of a match, and he was all too ready to let it catch on the dry brush of what remained of his nerves.

“Let me see...” He started low, turning his head to glare at Bill and raising his voice with each word. “They set us up once before, they didn’t like us, we destroyed their farm, should I go on?!” His shout echoed across the town, silent otherwise from them.

“Go easy on him, Morgan.” Micah’s voice slithered from behind him, and he whirled to pin the other man with the same fiery glare. “He was out trying to find a lead, same as you, same as-” Micah had nudged Sean’s body with his foot, further sparking the fury of Arthur’s ire, and he was all too ready to let it blaze out of control. But Arthur couldn’t just shoot the pair of them like his rage wanted. They were not targets, they were not the enemy. And there were enough things to worry about without going back to camp completely empty handed and down  _ three _ members.

He couldn’t take a moment more of this.

“Take his body back to camp, bury it. Let them all know you  _ failed _ him.” He spat to Micah, or Bill, he didn’t care. He just turned on his heel and stalked back to his horse, swinging himself up into the back of his stallion and kicking him off into an agitated gallop.

\---

Arthur stayed away that night. He’d needed the time to cool off and stop himself from doing anything he might come to regret. He’d wanted to plan and prepare a speech to give Dutch, the reasoning for why this whole ordeal was better left abandoned and why it would be better to move camp entirely, as soon as possible. He’d tried to think of a better spot to move to, but nothing really came to mind. No words and no speech and no plan. He wasn’t the mastermind, Dutch was. And here he was trying to come up with something good enough to get Dutch off this particular goal.

He was too stupid for that. Too stupid to even recognize a trap after having walked into one not so long ago.

He’d hidden out in the basement of that old burnt out shack near the stable in Scarlett Meadows, Beast hitched to a tree outside. Out of sight from the road and with his lantern lighting up the deteriorated structure, Arthur hadn’t been thinking when he’d made his way here, just needing a place to clear his head and stay out of danger, but the old shell of a building was the place he’d met up with Sean before the train job they’d gone on with John and Charles. A job that Sean had nearly been killed on as well. 

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe they were all just one step away from death at all times. Maybe Sean had avoided his end that day just to meet it on this one. Was there a point to all this running and scheming and plotting and conning, or would they all end up like Sean eventually? Would they all have their brains blown out into the dirt, to be buried in a lonely grave in the middle of nowhere?

The thought of burying Charles ached harshly in his chest, and in the privacy of these four walls he let himself shed the tears of grief and fear that had been up until this point smothered by his anger.

And after the sun had started rising and Arthur had gotten no sleep, he decided he’d put it off long enough and made the ride back to Clemens Point.

Bill was on watch and seemed to be in some sort of drunken daze, barely lifting his eyes from the forest floor to look at Arthur as he approached, and he had to bite back a snarl at the display. Bill was hardly keeping an eye out for trouble, hardly keeping them safe, but there was dirt on his hands and shadows under his eyes, and Arthur knew he’d had a worse night than himself, and so he let it be.

He slipped off of Beasts broad back and nearly stumbled, holding onto the midnight black flank and steadying himself. Exhaustion and sorrow weighed down on him like stones, and Arthur was vaguely reminded of some Greek feller Dutch had made him read about, years ago. Doomed to push a boulder up a hill only to have it fall back down to the bottom again and again for all eternity.

He wanted to sleep, wanted to crawl into his cot and sleep until this sadness could be buried like the one who it was for, but first he had to speak to Dutch.

Arthur had barely made his way over towards Dutch’s tent before he saw a small group already outside of it. No doubt talking about Sean’s loss and what they were to do about the betrayal of the Grays. This place was over for them now, empty of chance, and at least he was not the only one to see it that way. 

But as he came nearer and heard those voices to be hushed and frantic, noticed it was Abigail who was standing with Dutch and Hosea and John, her tone the most distressed, he paused. 

“Arthur!” Abigail called to him, the first to notice him a few paces away. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, and her skirts were wrinkled like she’d been clutching and tugging at them. “Arthur, have you seen Jack?”

“No... I only just got back. Why?” Dread now, too, stringing around his heart, pulling tight and dizzying. 

“I can’t find him anywhere! I-... we heard about Sean, about what happened in town, and I just wanted him to be near me, but I couldn’t find him by the shore where he’d been. He’s not here, he’s not! Someone’s taken my boy!” 

Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say, not to her or to John or to Hosea. His speech to Dutch was entirely forgotten now. 

He should have gone back to camp the night before, shouldn’t have been so selfish and childish. He had stayed out, and now Jack was gone. Taken. If he’d been here, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. 

Or maybe it was inevitable. 

He didn’t feel like he could get enough air into his lungs. Could only imagine how Abigail felt. No, he  _ knew _ how she felt. Losing a child. Lost-taken or lost-dead, it didn’t matter if you couldn’t hold them in your arms anymore, couldn’t hear their laughter or see their smiles or touch their soft little cheeks. And Jack was not his son, even if he knew John foolishly feared it to be the case, but he felt the sharp knife of that old pain once again, far too close, far too frightening. There was no room for anything else inside him, no anger or bravado. He just felt sick.


	13. A Change In Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very happy with this chapter, but in a lot of ways it's very important. It sets up the things for the next chapter, which is when stuff starts going off the rails LOL I wonder if you guys will notice the differences here and the ways its going to initiate the changes that are going to happen later on in this story. I also realize that it's been awhile since anything with the aliens has gone on, but don't worry about that either, they're not gone just yet >u>;;
> 
> I really want to thank everyone who's been commenting and leaving kudos, it means A LOT to me, and it really helps me feel like people care about this dumb story lol, so thank you.

Jack had been taken by the Braithwaites.

Keiran had seen some men around the fishing spot he liked, sometime before Arthur had returned, but hadn’t thought to tell anyone. Charles found tracks at the edges of the water where Jack would play, footprints that led to horse prints that led towards the direction of Braithwaite Manor. And with what had happened with the Grays, it was very clear that the local hillbillies had grown wise to the gang's machinations at the same time, perhaps even set aside their differences to team up on this new yankee foe trying to scheme them both out of rumored riches. If not for the sake of money, then for the sake of pride.

Arthur’s wishes for a conversation and a change in plans were cast aside as every available man mounted up, all riding off towards the manor in a large, intimidating band. This could not wait, and Arthur was beginning to wonder if there would ever be a point where things would slow down and just... stop. No sleep and no food since the previous morning didn’t matter when Jack’s life was on the line.

But it was just par for the course by now that Jack wasn’t at Braithwaite Manor at all. According to Catherine Braithwaite, that repugnant matriarch, they’d  _ sold _ Jack to some big wig Saint Denis man by the name of Angelo Bronte. It left Arthur feeling sicker than before, and as they burnt down the Braithwaite home and let that woman go screaming back into that ancestral blaze of hers, he wasn’t sure if the nausea he felt was for her or for Jack, or possibly himself. He only knew that once they returned empty handed, Abigail’s cries struck him deep in his chest and echoed between his ears. 

No one slept that night. John surprised him by going to Abigail and taking her into the privacy of his tent, whispering assurances and comforts to her as he shut the flaps.

Charles sat with Arthur by the scout fire, shoulders pressing together with how close they were, thighs brushing, but both of them silent. Arthur didn’t know if Charles was more disturbed by what they’d done at Braithwaite Manor or by what they’d learned, but Arthur could feel his distressed energy all the same with how his mindless whittling seemed rough and jerky and his shoulders sat tense and curled inwards on his frame, hunched over the stick that was quickly becoming piles of shaved kindling.

And all the things they’d talked about together the past month, Arthur hadn’t yet brought up Isaac or Eliza. Hadn’t been able to. Never really good with words, and for them he had so very few. He knew it might have been baseless, but he held a fear that Charles would judge him for their deaths as he judged himself. That he would blame him for not being there when it mattered most, or for creating a child that he couldn’t care for in the first place. He had to remind himself that this situation was different, that they would not go to Saint Denis only to find the cold little corpse of the boy they all loved. They would not find a lonely little cross in front of a ransacked little house.

But he was afraid, and he could not sleep, and despite the heat of the Lemoyne night he felt cold inside. He had his hat in his hands, running his fingers along the beadwork, repetitive and soothing for all it was worth.

When the sun rose on the camp, stifling and bright, Arthur went about making the coffee he knew everyone would need while Charles chopped wood for the fire nearby. The rhythmic thwacking of his axe was somewhat hypnotic, and he nearly found himself dozing off when Hosea came and sat beside him by the cook fire. 

“Alright there?” He asked, pale eyes roaming over Arthur’s form and jerking the man out of his haze. 

“Ah... sure.” He mumbled, rubbing his face with rough hands. There was a dream-like quality to the morning right now. Foggy and unreal, and not in any way that felt nice. Forty-eight hours without any sleep made it hard to feel like  _ anything _ real. It was disconcerting, Arthur struggling to stick himself in the here and now, and Hosea seemed to know just by looking at him. He settled a hand on Arthur’s large shoulder and sighed. 

“Don’t worry about Jack. Me and Dutch were up all night talking, and when the others get out here we’re going to get a plan together for getting him back.” The old man assured him, and Arthur had no choice but to hold onto those words and believe them. 

\---

It was only a few hours later, John sitting with Dutch, Hosea around one of the tables in camp, Arthur standing to the side, too restless to sit despite his exhaustion. Abigail was still in John’s tent, and Arthur did not blame her for wanting to block out the world and all it’s cruel designs. There were times when he wished he could do the same.

“It’s gonna work out, John.” Hosea’s hand was on his younger son’s shoulder and his eyes were soft. “It’s gonna work out, listen to Dutch.”

“I don’t expect you to understand this, but I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, brother. You’re doing the right thing.” Dutch’s voice was calm and low, familiar. None of that crackling pitch that Arthur had come to dread, didn’t recognize the man that came with it. But this Dutch, this collected and cool-headed man, this was the Dutch he knew, and seeing him now, here, in this moment, Arthur felt like maybe they would finally move past the brash actions and rash decisions that had led to some of this heartache. This was the Dutch who could get Jack back to them, safe and sound.

John looked up as Dutch spoke, then dropped his eyes to the table and shook his head. “If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m... she... she’ll kill us all.” 

Typical of John to pretend that Abigail was the only one who cared about Jack, easier for him that way, and Arthur wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he saw sense. Now more than ever was the time to push everything else aside, to not be so afraid of fatherhood that he lost his chance at it. But maybe now was also the most painful time to admit how  _ much _ he cared.

“I know, but... looking at this logically, the boy is fine. They took him to scare us.” Dutch glanced to Hosea as he spoke, the man nodded along. “Nobody takes a boy to  _ harm _ him.”

“He’s right, John.” Hosea agreed.

“What do you think, Arthur?” An invitation to agree as well, or perhaps Dutch wanted honesty? Arthur didn’t know, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. There were too many conflicting emotions and desires in his head. Scaring John into action, and soothing him so he wouldn’t act too hastily just two of the things he wanted to do that butted up against each other. He wasn’t sure he felt that the boy would be fine, but he also wasn’t sure if he was ‘looking at it logically’. He was scared and he was angry and he just wanted this to be over.

So he took a breath and chose the route that was laid out before him by the other two men. “The boy’ll be fine, but... a’course Marston’s scared rotten.” He bit his lip slightly and let out a small sigh. “I mean, we killed all those people, we stirred up all that trouble... for nothin’.” He looked down, took his hat off and started running his fingers over the beads again. He didn’t just mean the Braithwaites, or Rhodes. He meant Valentine and Strawberry too. Lots of people dead, and they still didn’t have enough money, they were  _ still _ being chased down.

But Dutch didn’t seem to take it that way, didn’t seem to see it the same way Arthur did. “No, no, not for nothing. For living. Now, we get that boy back, and we go.  _ Trust _ me.”

Arthur wanted to say that he did. He  _ did _ trust Dutch; had trusted him his entire life and wasn’t about to stop now. It was  _ other _ people he didn’t trust. It was Grays and Braithwaites and Colm O’Driscoll. He didn’t trust the idea of something that always ended up too good to be true. Confederate gold and peace offerings and  _ nobody harms a boy _ .

But he never got the chance. Lenny’s voice carried over to them, harsh and hurried, and all four men looked over at his words.

“Hey Dutch! We got a problem.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. 

“Not a problem...” Agent Milton walking into their camp, into their home. Walking in as if he owned the place. “Visitors. A solution. Good day, fine people. Mr Van der Linde, Mr Mathews, I presume. And... who are you?” Those calculating eyes landed on John, standing from the table as the rest of the camp came out of their tents and over from the fires, approaching the two strangers like one might approach a mangy dog; slow and careful, eyes watching every little movement for signs of a threat. They may not know who these two were, but Arthur did.

“Rip Van Winkle.” John rasped, already a hand by his sidearm. Smart not to give his real name if they didn’t already know it, but stupid _ , stupid, _ to play jokes now. Arthur swiftly put his hat back on his head and his hand on his gun belt.

“Huh. Good day, sir. Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. Agent Ross.” He waved loosely at the companion behind him, and those beady little eyes shifted to Arthur. “Ah, Mr Morgan, nice to see you again.”

Arthur didn’t reply, only furrowed his brows and set his jaw, keeping his mouth firmly shut. Tensed his shoulders, clenched his fists, and stood tall against this intruder. He was used to being a silent threat, and right here there was no need for him to speak. 

“And to what do we owe this pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch had stayed seated, his back to the agents, showing no fear at having the enemy in his camp, not like the fear that was pulsing in Arthur’s veins.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but this... this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of  _ you _ to act like human dignity and  _ basic decency _ was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing... it’s  _ done _ .”

Arthur couldn’t help but look at Charles as Milton spoke so freely of the murder of his people. Maybe not  _ his _ people, but the people to which he belonged, and whose livelihood on their own land had been destroyed time and again. He shouldn’t have been surprised that on top of everything else, Agent Milton was a racist.

Dutch stood now, turning to face Milton, slow and deliberate. “This place... ain’t no such  _ thing _ as civilized. It’s man, so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only  _ appetites _ .” Dutch’s words were a low hiss, and there was a subtle murmur of agreement among the gang.

“And as a consequence, that lets you take what you please, kill whom you please, and hang the rest of us?” A note of anger in Milton’s otherwise drawling tone. “Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?”

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mister Milton.”

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mister Van der Linde.” Arthur could see the tick in Dutch’s brow at that, the anger at the accusation. Hosea had told him that when they’d moved from Horseshoe. Nothing but a bunch of killers. Dutch had denied it from his closest and longest friend, and to hear it spoken by a man like Milton must leave him rankled. “But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I give the rest of you three days to run off, disappear, and go and live like human beings someplace else.” He turned his head to look at the circle that had gathered around him, so unafraid of them all, as if his badge and his name would be enough to keep him safe.

“You came for me?” Dutch asked, tone deceptively light. “Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love?” He chuckled. “Ain’t that  _ fine _ .”

“I don’t want to kill  _ all _ these folks, Dutch. Just you.” He was lying, Arthur knew he was. Maybe the Pinkertons didn’t care about people like Tilly and Pearson, but Dutch was by no means the only man they wanted to hang. Arthur himself had five thousand on his head - they were not just going to let that go.

Dutch slowly raised his hands, taking measured steps forward, eyes locked on the Agent’s pocked face. “In that case... it’d be my honor... to join you. Excuse me, friends. I have an appointment to keep with-”

At once, every pair of hands had suddenly drawn a weapon, the sound of metal clicking and hammers being cocked was loud and jarring, and Arthur saw the first hint of fear in Milton’s dark eyes. Maybe he was finally realizing that they didn’t follow Dutch for the money, and they didn’t follow him for the infamy either - though they had certainly gained  _ that _ , and not without reason.

“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch.” It was Susan who spoke, holding a repeater in her hands as naturally as anything, her voice sharp and low, the type of tone that spoke of a real threat.

“You’re making a big mistake, all of you.” Milton seemed angry, offended even, that they wouldn’t let him take their leader just to save their own skin.

“Yeah, dreadful.” Dutch crooned. “We have  _ got _ something. Something to live and die for. How awful for us, Mister Milton.” And now Dutch let his voice enter a growl, standing close enough to Milton that he could have reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Stop. Following. Us. We’ll be gone soon.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” The Agent spat, “and when I return, I’ll be with fifty men. All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools! Run!” Milton spread his arms out and waved them off like flies, glaring and snarling now, acting like the beast Arthur knew all government men to be. 

“Come on.” Lenny, brave and young and hurting from Sean’s loss, stepped forward and grabbed Milton by the arm, but the agent pulled back with a snarl of disgust that set Arthur’s finger itching for the trigger.

“Get your damn hands off of me, boy!” Milton stepped back, shoving past Charles and stalking away, Ross leaving with him, and there was a tense and careful moment of silence. 

“What now?” Arthur tasted ash in his mouth as he came to stand beside Dutch, the entire camp watching as Milton and Ross mounted their horses and rode off into the trees.

“We get out of here, and quick. Any ideas?” Dutch looked around at the gathered group.

“I know a big old house hidden in the swamps outside Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually, but it should buy us a few days.” A few days for finding Jack and then getting gone, like Dutch promised.

“A few days is all we need.” Dutch confirmed, and Arthur relaxed his shoulders as much as he could, muscles tense and teeth aching.

“It’s a spot out by Shady Belle. Lenny and I got into a dispute with the previous occupiers. Place is well hidden.” He glanced over to the young man, who nodded back at him, his dark eyes burning with the anger of injustice and his repeater held tightly in his hands.

Dutch nodded as well, taking a breath and clasping a hand on John’s shoulder. “You and Arthur, ride out and make sure no one else has moved in.” He looked between the two, before releasing John and moving to look at everyone gathered. “Lenny, go follow those fools out of here and make  _ sure _ that they leave. The rest of you, get packing!”

There was a moment of silence and stillness, before everyone burst into action. Arthur ran a hand over his face before heading over to the horses, noticing Beasts agitated stamping and the way his ears had pulled back. Ornery thing had probably sensed the mood in camp and wasn’t pleased at it. Arthur just shushed him gently before climbing up into the saddle.

“Come on, John.” He sighed, hoping he didn’t sound as weary as he felt. After  _ that _ , of all things, he was beginning to feel wrung out and near a breaking point. The pain of losing Sean, of having Jack taken, and now the Pinkertons - no doubt finding them because of the stunt they pulled at Braithwaite Manor... all of this and they  _ still _ had to go and figure out who the Hell Angelo Bronte was.

“This is crazy.” John was always so eloquent, and yet right now that about summed up all of Arthur’s thoughts a lot simpler than he could have. They rode out together, tandem on the small dirt path, and Arthur didn’t know if he wanted to comment on how  _ crazy _ this all really was. 

“Follow me, I know the way.” Was what he said instead, but he couldn’t just ignore his brother like that, not now. He glanced over his shoulder as they brought the horses into a canter. “It’s gonna be alright John.” 

John was pale, eyebrows drawn tight, and Arthur knew the emotions that must be working through that rusty bucket he called a brain. “We should be going for Jack.”

At least they were the right emotions, this time.

“We will.” Arthur assured him as firmly as he was able. Because no matter what, Arthur would not leave that boy. “But we got to move everyone first before that bastard Milton comes back with an army. We ain’t no use to Jack in jail, or at the end of a rope.” Or shot in the head and left to bleed in the dirt.

“I don’t even know  _ what _ to think no more.” John sounded angry, bitter, and Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to get into a conversation like whatever was certainly brewing in the younger man at the moment.

“Just gotta keep our cool, be smart about this.”

But John wasn’t having that, apparently. He scoffed. “Smart? Are you  _ jokin’? _ We made too much noise once again. We drew ‘em right to us! I mean... how many people we killed the past few weeks?”

Lord, John must’ve suddenly discovered a hidden talent for understanding Arthur’s fears and saying them out loud for everyone to hear. He had tried to assure him it would be fine, but Arthur wasn’t sure it would be, and John clearly didn’t think so. Did it mean they were doubting? Did it mean they were losing their way? Or was it Dutch who was lost? Or maybe this entire situation was a monster of everyone’s design?

“Far too many...” Arthur stared at the road ahead, unsure if John realized just how many people they’d killed in the past few  _ months _ . Arthur didn’t even know, and that thought was more upsetting than he liked to admit.

“It’s Dutch playin’ his games. Hosea too.” John continued, always kept pushing, never knew when to shut up. Had no idea how hard this was for Arthur or just how many wounds he was picking at, like always with him. “Gettin’ involved with those two families... master con men working their magic.”

But Arthur couldn’t let John just  _ say _ these things, even if he too felt these worries, even if these same thoughts were in his own heart. “They thought there was a lotta gold-”

John cut him off, spitting mad. “Yeah, they  _ thought _ there was money! Ain’t there always?”

Ain’t there always money. Ain’t there always just one more job. Ain’t there always  _ ‘Just trust me, Arthur’ _ and  _ ‘It’ll all work out, son’ _ .

He pulled Beast to a sudden stop, hooves skidding in the dirt, causing John to pull Old Boy to the side to avoid running into him. 

“What the Hell are you doing, Arthur?” He snapped and wheeled his horse around, the stallion stomping angrily and his rider glaring, John’s scars pulling at his fierce scowl. 

“Look, Marston...” Arthur started, voice tight. “I dunno what to tell you. Things don’t always work out, that ain’t nothin’ new.” His grip on the reins was too tight, and Beast tossed his head in irritation. Arthur let out a slow breath, muttering an apology and releasing the reins to absently pat at the shire’s thick neck. 

“Jack’s gone, we lost Sean, Mac, Davey, Jenny... and for what?” John repeated Arthur’s doubts at him  _ yet again _ , and it burned at his eyes and made his fingers itch. 

“We can’t change what’s done, we can only move on.” His voice sounded weak to his own ears. Repeating phrases and assurances from Dutch and Hosea both, but he didn’t have their conviction. 

“But one day, we need to start learnin’ from our mistakes.” John countered, and Arthur paused, throat dry and breathing shallow. He could continue to placate Marston, could continue to parrot back all the things that Dutch and Hosea had taught him. He should be the loyal son that he’d been raised to be, and kick John back in line.

But Dutch had been wrong about the parley, and Arthur had nearly died for it. He’d robbed a train when Hosea had asked him not to, and ended up getting them into a shootout that chased them out of Valentine. Hosea had been as interested as Dutch about the Braithwaites and the Grays... and even if he’d tried to be careful, was there really any  _ being careful _ anymore?

“That’s rich.” He growled, head ducked down, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “When  _ you _ gonna start learnin’, huh? Cus after all this time, it took  _ this _ to get you to give a damn about your son. What’re you gonna do, John? When’re you gonna change?” He couldn’t hide the wavering in his voice, the anger and the fear. “You ain’t the only one who cares about that boy, but you’re the only one who can  _ do _ somethin’ about what happens to ‘im!”

There was no immediate shouting response like Arthur had expected. John didn’t say anything, and when Arthur lifted his eyes, the younger man was just staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. There was a long, tense moment of silence before Arthur looked away, ducked his head again and kicked Beast into a quick trot.

“Should be just down this path to the left here...” He muttered, hearing Old Boy following along even though John didn’t speak.

Arriving at the rotten old mansion, Arthur and John took care of the straggling Lemoyne Raiders and the resulting corpses, done in silence. Arthur chose to stay behind and dump the bodies into the swamp as John rode back to the caravan. 

It gave him time to think, a few hours to sit at the bottom of the moldy stairs and press the heels of his palms into his eyes until colorful stars burst into life behind the darkness.

Had he said the wrong thing? Well, undoubtedly. But it had needed to be said, hadn’t it? No one else was willing to tell John how it was  _ his _ responsibility to keep his son safe. Solely and unavoidably  _ his _ . Hosea tried, but he was reluctant to upset John, and Dutch was hardly the man John seemed to want to ask for anything lately, least of all fatherhood advice. The gang was his family - Arthur was John’s family - and he loved him like a brother; annoying traits and infuriating habits and all. But Jack was  _ John’s _ son, not Arthur’s and not Hosea’s and not Dutch’s. And John was Jack’s only father, despite all the uncles he had around him. No one else could replace that, could assume that role - Arthur had once considered it - but now that John had gotten a taste of that fear, now that he finally seemed to understand just what was at stake... well, Arthur hoped more than anything that he wouldn’t lose it all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have an outline written for this, just basic concepts I want to make sure I cover, and right now it does follow the main plot of the game fairly closely in terms of major events. Whether or not those major events end up different sort of remains to be seen, but for now I think this story has at least another 10 chapters to it. I also have some epilogue chapters written out, but I was wondering if people would be interested in a few chapters containing deleted scenes I've written and then scrapped, or things like that? Please let me know! <3


	14. Shifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's this big honking chapter. I tried to see if there was a way for me to cut it in half, but every time it either felt unnatural or left the other half sort of floating, and I didn't like it. Get ready for some of everything here, and a few clues to how this whole thing might go. As always, a huge thank you to everyone who's commented and shown their support, and I am always open for constructive critique! The journal entry here is ripped straight from the game, as is some of the dialogue, but hopefully this will be one of the last times I have to do that. I feel like it's somewhat stifling, even if it's necessary to get things moving.

_ So we headed into Saint Denis to find little Jack. We was told he’d been kidnapped by some local gangster, this Italian feller called Bronte, a local tough guy.  _

_ We ain’t found him, but he’s found us. Dutch and I headed into town and I managed to get myself robbed by a bunch of children. This was a new low, even by my standards. Anyway, we found Mr Bronte and are going to pay him a call.  _

_ We better get the boy back soon, not least because if we don’t Abigail will kill the lot of us. All this after we burned down the Braithwaite Manor house looking for him and made some real enemies of ourselves back in that country. _

_ We’re now hiding deep in the swamps, trying not to get eaten by wildlife or sunk too deep in the mud. I cannot decide which I like less - the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles, and slime, but the swamp’s prettier.  _

_ Dutch is trying to think of where we can run next, but in the meantime, we are deep in the swamps. Hiding in some disease ridden old plantation house, mostly swallowed up by nature.  _

_ Guess we will find Jack, get some money, then flee, but where? These bastards ain’t giving up. We’re a long way east of land we know and far from real open country.  _

\---

They’d gone to see Bronte alright, and Arthur was surprised it hadn’t led to anyone getting shot. The man had been angry about the moonshine and their interference in the business dealings, probably the motivation for why he’d taken Jack in the first place. It had been tense, nearly a stand off, but then he’d started... laughing, and acting friendly, and Arthur really hadn’t been sure what to think other than he didn’t trust a lick of it. He’d sat uncomfortably between Dutch and John, holding the drink they offered him but not sipping any. He’d made a promise, after all.

Then he and John had been sent on an errand before getting the boy back, because nothing could ever go easy. Some business about graverobbers and not paying the proper dues or something to that effect. Riding to the graveyard with John, the man was clearly still upset, posture tense upon his horse. Arthur knew that last time they talked it hadn’t exactly gone well, and he didn’t want to leave it like that. 

“You know... you did good, holdin’ your tongue back there.” He tried, and John glanced over at him without replying, worrying Arthur that he’d not speak to him at all. The sound of their horses hooves on the cobbled stone was loud and new, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

But then John opened his mouth, and Arthur let out a silent breath. “Do you trust one word that comes outta that bastard’s mouth? We don’t even know where Jack is.” 

“Listen, we found Bronte, we got in there, Dutch is with him now. All things considered it could’a gone a lot worse.” A  _ lot _ worse. The boy was still alive, and they were close to getting him back. After this, they didn’t have to stick around for much, just get enough money to go wherever Dutch thought was best. 

“That poor kid... I ain’t... been a good father to him. I hope... he’s okay. I hope I get the chance to make it up to him.” John’s voice was soft, rough and scratchy sure, but gentle in a way that Arthur rarely heard. 

“He’ll be fine.” Arthur muttered, shaking out the tension in his arm as they rode. “Way I figure, the Braithwaites were gonna hold Jack ransom for all the money we cost ‘em. They must’a sent him here so we couldn’t get to him. But... Bronte knows by now there’s no Braithwaites left to pay him. Jack ain’t much use to him anymore.” They arrived near the graveyard, and pulled their horses to the side of the paved road, hitching them on some fancy iron posts. “Let’s just... get this done and let Dutch handle the rest.”

“Yeah, sure.” John remarked, sounding distracted or like he was withholding something. But Arthur wasn’t about to blame him. They were here, anyway, and had a job to do.

It went about as well as could be expected. They had to skulk around in the dark and ended up getting into a shootout, giving them just enough time to find the graverobber’s stash and stuff it into their pockets before the police arrived and forced them to sneak back out. But they escaped no worse for wear, and made their way back to Bronte’s mansion with bated breath at what they might return to.

Oh, but seeing that boy after such a trial of heartache was a balm that could be replaced by nothing else. That little voice shouting “Pa!” With such excitement, John going and running to his son, holding him in his arms for the first time in a great long while... It hurt some part of Arthur, deep in a private place in his chest, but more so there was the joy and the bone-deep relief. And if it meant John would care more openly about the boy, would be the one taking him on fishing trips instead of Arthur, well, that was fine too. 

On the ride back to Shady Belle, Jack told them all about how  _ ‘Papa Bronte’ _ had given him a bath and a big room full of toys and some p’sketti... whatever the Hell that was. At least the boy hadn’t been mistreated. Even given some new fancy clothes, certainly better fitting than anything else he owned. And that, too, hurt Arthur; that the enemy was better at caring for the boy than any of them. Wasn’t like it was their fault, but they just didn’t have the means to provide for Jack the way they ought to. The way they might be able to if things were different.

Their return was met with an outpouring of celebration, Abigail expressing her thanks to Arthur and Dutch and ignoring John entirely, something which obviously stung. But Arthur couldn’t blame her, not with how John had regarded the boy in the past. Still, he could see that John’s eyes tracked his son over to the main fire, something firming over his expression as the seconds ticked by. 

“So?” Hosea stepped over to them, hands on his hips expectantly. 

“Well,” Dutch sighed, shaking his head and letting out a huff of laughter, no doubt relieved as well at Jack’s return. “We met Mr Bronte. He is, ah... quite a character.”

“Is he now?” Hosea replied, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. 

“You ever meet an Italian strong man before?” Dutch asked, raising an eyebrow at Hosea, who just scoffed. 

“Not outside of a circus.” He didn’t seem amused, but Dutch only put his hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled at him. 

“Well, let me tell you all about him.” He started to lead Hosea off, but paused and turned over his shoulder. “John, you go be with your family. Arthur...”

Arthur looked up, throat choked up for some reason, but nodded to show he was listening. 

“Thank you.”

He felt too raw for the soft and grateful tone Dutch took with him, and he just nodded again, pulling a cigarette out of his satchel and striking a match on his boot, inhaling and letting out a slow curl of smoke.

“Boys!” Dutch called as he made his way over to the gathering of joy. “We got some work to do, interesting work. But first let’s have a drink.” He laughed then, a sound Arthur hadn’t felt like he’d heard in a long time. “We got Jack back!”

He heard Hosea and Dutch talk to each other as they left, but John was still by his side, and it took a moment before he turned his head to address Arthur. 

“Thank you, Arthur, I...” his voice sounded thick, and he cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “I don’t know how to say it... Thank you.”

“I understand.” Arthur replied, cigarette between his lips, and he had trouble looking at John too. His wandering eyes led him to spot Charles sitting on the porch, clearly watching him but not approaching just yet. Probably wanted to give John and Arthur a private moment, considerate man that he was.

“Arthur, listen...” John seemed to struggle with his words. “I heard what you said... about changin’. I did. And I ain’t... I ain’t gonna let things be like they was no more. I’m not gonna pretend I can suddenly be father of the year, but...”

Arthur couldn’t hear this, not now. “Come on.” He said quietly. “Do as Dutch says... go be with your family.” He put a hand on John’s back, just for a moment, and then gently pushed him towards the fire where the boy was being celebrated as the wonder that he was. Gentle and kind and wholly pure, like nothing else in this world could be.

John nodded and walked off, approaching Abigail like she might tear his head off or tell him to leave, which she rightly might. But it seemed she wasn’t in the mood for that, and so let him sit beside her and even transfered the boy to John’s lap. Maybe it wasn’t normal or traditional, but it was a family. 

Arthur stood alone now, not wanting to infect the others with whatever sourness was holding his own joy at bay. He didn’t want them to think he wasn’t glad for the boy to be back, so he just tossed his cigarette into the mud and started walking towards the house.

Charles stood as he approached, taking in his expression and seeming to come to some sort of conclusion as he followed him inside the front door. 

“You alright, Arthur?” Charles asked. 

Was he? He didn’t know.

“Yeah, just... tired. Real tired.” It wasn’t a lie, though he hated the tremor that came through his words. “I, ah... was goin’ to head to bed, but...”

“Miss Grimshaw put you upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.” Charles glanced around and then took Arthur gently by the hand, leading him up the stairs and to a small door, softly pushing it open. Sure enough, all of Arthur’s things were in there, cramped little space that it was, but... four walls, a roof... he even had a window. 

He shuffled in and sat heavily on the bed, taking off his hat and running his fingers along the beads before he placed it down on the little table by his cot. Charles turned to leave, but Arthur reached out and took his arm before he could even think to stop himself.

“You... uh...” He swallowed, throat feeling tight, and slowly pulled his hand back and settled it in his lap. “If you’d rather join the party, I... that’s fine. I just... um...”

Those brown eyes regarded him in that all too knowing way. “I’ll stay with you, Arthur.” God bless that man for being so damn perceptive. Arthur let out a breath, eyes stinging with something he was trying his best to push back. He started pulling his boots off, kicking them to the side as Charles sat beside him. 

Slowly, he undressed down to just his pants and the union suit beneath his shirt, Charles doing the same. Of course Charles wasn’t wearing a union suit in this swampy heat, bare chested, and maybe he had the right of it. Arthur had certainly felt hotter than he’d like to be all day. He unbuttoned the garment down to his waist, and then just leaned against the crumbling wall at his back.

Charles was quiet - that comfortable sort of silence that he felt around the man, no pressure to talk but not the sense that it would be unwelcome if he chose to. An understanding that sometimes words took time to gather, and no judgement about it either way.

His fingers itched to reach out and take Charles’ hand, and Arthur had the urge to look around and make sure no one could see, the fear that someone might catch them in a moment too intimate to explain away. But they were most likely all alone in the house at the moment, and even if they weren’t, no one would be able to see them in here. So instead he took comfort in it, no matter how nerve-wracking it still was, curling his fingers against the other man’s.

“I ever told you...” Arthur started slowly, tilting his head back to stare at the half collapsed ceiling, breaking open this can of worms and hoping it wouldn’t blow up in his face. “I had a son once?”

He could feel Charles tense up next to him, squeezing his hand a little tighter and letting out a small breath. “No. Was it with... Mary?”

Arthur laughed despite himself, bitter and sad. “No, not with Mary. She... we ain’t never...” He shook his head. “She’s too proper a lady to do nothin’ with me before marriage, an’ she didn’t want me like that, so... I never... not with her.” He blinked the wetness from his eyes, not wanting to go down that particular rabbit hole.

Charles didn’t say anything else, waiting for Arthur to continue. It took awhile for him to steady himself, the noise from the party filtering in through the glassless window; Javier's guitar and Uncle’s drunken singing and Karen shouting something obscene that got a round of laughter and a shout for the sake of Jack’s innocence.

“It was after Mary... We were somewhere up north, weren’t many of us in the gang back then. Dutch and Hosea, John, Susan, Abigail, couple others. Anyway... met a waitress in some dead end bar, don’t even remember the name of the town no more. I guess we was both lonely, ‘cus we spent the night together. I didn’t really do that sort of thing real often, but...” he shrugged, sniffling and turning his head away, staring hard at the corner of the room. 

“She got pregnant. Only found out when we went back up that way a couple months later. I... well, she knew what kinda life I had, an’ she didn’t want no part of it. I offered to marry her, but she weren’t interested in that neither. Second woman to... well, anyway...” He cleared his throat, feeling exposed not from his state of undress, but from the baring of one of his most closely held secrets, his biggest failure.

“Stayed around till she had the baby, tried to help out. And then... couple months after that...” His voice wavered, and he coughed to disguise it. “He had her eyes, this tiny little wrinkled thing, bright red an’ screamin’ up a storm.” A sound that might have been a laugh if he could’ve managed it, but ended up coming out as more closely resembling a dry sob.

Charles’ thumb was running over his knuckles, over the many scars there. “What was his name?”

“Isaac.” He rubbed at his eyes, pressing against them to try and push the tears away. “I tried my best. Came by as often as I could, but it weren’t nothin’ regular. Hard to travel all that way, sometimes. Brought them money when I went, Eliza never really wanted it, probably knew what I did to get it... but it didn’t feel right otherwise. Spent time with him, watched him grow, learnin’ to read an’ all that. I was... real proud of him.” His words were halting and rough, and breathing felt harder than it should have, even in the humid air. 

“Was a couple years like that... he was such a... sweet kid. Better’n I deserved. An’ then... then one day I...” His voice died, stuck behind the lump that was forming in his throat, and he needed to stop and try to remember how to breathe, how to keep all of this under control. “One day I rode up... an’ I saw two crosses outside. An’ I knew...” 

“Oh, Arthur.” Charles’ voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, and he brought an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest, and Arthur let him. Even after all this time, it still hurt him so deeply to think about, much less to say. He just didn’t know how he was supposed to move on from something like that. Hosea had mentioned that he still missed Bessie, that he thought of her all the time, but he was able to tell stories and laugh about things they’d done together. Arthur didn’t feel like he could find laughter or joy in those memories ever again.

“I should’a been there, or never left that last time.” His eyes were stinging terribly. “Cus some stupid, violent bastards came along and killed my son and his mother for  _ ten damn dollars _ . Should’a known, I should’a known.”

Charles was rubbing his shoulder and keeping him held close, and they stayed like that for a while, Arthur fighting away his tears and listening to the drum beat of Charles’ heart. His entire body ached with this, and the noises outside seemed muted and dull with the heavy swamp air and the rushing white noise in his ears.

“I miss him. Everyday.” Arthur managed eventually, sitting up a little. “‘S hard... kid didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve to have someone like me as a father. Should’a known it wouldn’t’ve worked out...”

“But you loved him, didn’t you?” Charles asked then, his voice a low, careful whisper.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, ‘course... Still do. Don’t think I ever stopped.”

“Arthur...” Charles started, gently running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “There’s a lot about this life that I don’t understand. This world seems to be very cruel, at times. And sometimes I wonder if I was only born to feel pain and suffer. For a long time I was very lonely, and very angry.” Charles paused, and Arthur watched him, saw the way he breathed to keep that steady calm, but now saw that maybe there was a lot more to it than he’d first thought. A lot of practice that only made it seem natural. Maybe Charles had to work for his peace just like everyone else.

“But I’m here either way, and there are moments of happiness, and they can make things feel... worth it.” A hand on Arthur’s cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “Even if things hurt - sometimes so badly that it’s all I can think about... well, those good moments are precious because of those times, aren’t they? You’ve had moments like that, haven’t you?”

He thought back to the good times in the gang, back when it was small. He could still remember how whole it made him feel to finally have his own little family, two fathers and a nasty little brother that he begrudgingly began to care about. Then some sisters, and a few more little brothers. Thought about Lenny and how smart he was, how much he reminded Arthur of Hosea, and he thought about Sean. Loud mouthed and boisterous, sometimes too much, but always himself. That hurt too, a little too new to look back on fondly just yet. But there was Javier as well, a brother as much as anyone aside from John. Someone he’d seen grow and flourish with the gang as Arthur had.

He thought about meeting Charles. Thought back to the time he’d spent in the gang before the Blackwater mess, how Arthur hadn’t gotten to know him so well. Quiet and withdrawn, but with an air of strength that Arthur could respect; a man who could get things done and didn’t need to be corrected or prompted in his work. He remembered Colter, and how Charles had done his best to provide, even with an injury. He had taught Arthur how to use a bow. He thought of that time on the plains hunting bison, how such a good day had turned so sour because of the evilness of men, but maybe it didn’t detract entirely from the lessons he’d learned and the things Charles had shared.

He thought about Charles saving his life, about their first kiss and all the ones they’d shared after. He thought about spending that night in Strawberry with him and how they’d... made love, for lack of anything else to call it. And he thought about Charles doing him a wonderful kindness and giving him back his fathers hat, better than it had been before. 

“Yeah.” He answered, throat raw but honest. “I’m just... afraid, sometimes, that it’ll all get taken away from me and I won’t have nothin’ no more. This gang means everythin’ to me... and you... you mean...” He paused, unable to get the words to unstick from his throat. He knew them, in the privacy of his own thoughts, but saying them aloud seemed like a step he couldn’t take, not yet. 

Charles seemed to understand, however, and just pulled him closer to rest his forehead against Arthur’s. “I know. You too.”

Finally, warmth in that icy pit of his chest. Something other than dread or fear or anger or exhaustion. It felt like it had been days since he’d felt anything else. 

“Will you... stay with me tonight?” He asked, reaching out and running his fingers through Charles’ silky hair. “I... we ain’t been able to... since in camp I ain’t usually got no privacy, but... we got some walls now, and...”

“Through the night? I’d have to leave early before anyone else woke up, but...” Charles seemed to consider it, but it didn’t take long, and he just smiled softly. “I’d like that.”

They finished undressing, both of them naked and laying on top of the cot, no need for the blanket. It was cramped and hot with how close together they had to press, but Arthur preferred it to being alone. Charles’ chest was warm up against his back, his thick arm hooked over Arthur’s waist, pulling him flush with the other man, and it was... comforting to be held like this. A feeling of security different than that of wearing a gun at his hip. 

The man wasn’t rejecting him. He wasn’t blaming or judging or criticizing each of Arthur’s multitude of failures and mistakes. Arthur had worried what Charles may think of him once he’d found out, maybe would think of him selfish or dumb, but he didn’t seem to. If anything, he seemed to be sympathetic... 

Charles’ fingers were tracing idle circles on his side, his lips pressed gently to the back of Arthur’s neck.

“Have you ever thought about wanting another child?” Arthur could feel the way Charles’ lips moved against his neck as he spoke, and felt how Charles’ voice vibrated in his chest, smooth and soft and low. It made it easier to feel like he was really here.

Arthur found it hard to respond right away, though. That was a concept that he’d figured was well beyond him now; starting a family and settling down. Even if the gang did manage to secure some land and stay free, the idea of finding a woman who’d want him just seemed so... unlikely. None of the women in his life had wanted him permanently, and now, well... 

“Maybe.” He admitted quietly. “I might’ve thought about it before. When Jack was born and John ran off, I considered askin’ Abigail to marry me. Just so... you know, she wouldn’t have to raise the kid alone, and Jack could have a father. But he weren’t mine, and Abigail was already too in love with that idiot to want anyone else. Wasn’t like I was in love with her anyway, just seemed like the right thing to do.” He placed his hand on top of Charles’, resting them together on his hip. “But that don’t seem like the kind of thing that’s gonna happen no more.”

“Guess not.” Charles agreed, and snaked his hand up to rest over Arthur’s heart. 

He turned his head over his shoulder and brushed his lips against Charles’, chaste. “I ain’t too upset by it, though.” He whispered against the other man's mouth. Charles gave a hum of agreement; Arthur could feel the rumble of it against his back, and he pressed himself a little more firmly against Charles.

The sadness was still there, like it always was, but Arthur knew that Charles wouldn’t abandon him over it now. If he was going to, he would’ve done it when Arthur had told him. And with the feeling of being accepted after this unburdening of himself, he felt the urge to be closer to the other man. After showing this part of himself, this aching and tender side that only a few people had ever seen, there was a new sense of trust and want. None of the women in Arthur’s life may have wanted him this way, but Charles did. Charles had seen him at his worst and instead of turning away, had tried to steer him back on track. Charles had watched him beat people and intimidate others, had killed alongside him and saved his life. Had shared such intimacies that no one else ever ha

“I wanna make love again.” He muttered, and if Charles was surprised by the suddenness of that statement he didn’t say so, instead leaning in and closing the last bit of distance that remained between them, kissing him soft and tender. At the first gentle swipe of his tongue on Arthur’s lips, Arthur opened his mouth to it, feeling the start of that familiar heat begin to simmer in his belly. 

Charles’ hand rubbed over his chest, trailing his fingers across Arthur’s nipple before running the pad of his finger over it in slow circles until it peaked, then did the same with the other, taking it between his fingers to gently tug and pull. 

Arthur moaned softly into the kiss, feeling his cock stir against his thigh, and he felt Charles reacting the same against his lower back. Charles was slowly rutting against him and playing with his chest until Arthur was fully hard and squirming, breathless and unable to help the little sounds that were coming from his throat. 

Breaking the kiss, Charles spoke with a voice deepened by arousal. “Do you have something we can use?” He asked, and it took Arthur a moment to understand what he meant. Right, something to use. As slick. Right. 

He reached down to the belt he’d tossed on the floor, rummaging through it before he pulled out a cylinder of gun oil, handing it back to Charles. “This work?” He asked, and the man made a noise of acceptance, taking it from Arthur and unscrewing the cap. 

A moment later, he felt wet fingers reaching down between his legs and pressing against his hole, making his breath stutter. Charles kissed the back of his neck as he spread the oil around, waiting a moment before pushing the tip of his finger inside. Arthur tensed at first, still not so used to the feeling, but it was easier to relax with the memory of how good it had felt last time. It was easier to let Charles open him up, and it didn’t take long before he had two fingers buried inside Arthur.

“That’s it.” Charles purred against his neck, breathing over his heated skin as he moved his fingers in and out. “Being so good for me.”

Arthur had his face hidden in the crook of his arm, whining softly and biting his lip. It felt good, like Charles was reaching an itch that Arthur couldn’t scratch on his own, and Charles’ words of soft praise made him want to arch his back like a cat.

“C’mon...” He breathed, rolling his hips, liking this but wanting to get to the next part. He felt Charles huff against the back of his neck, laughing. 

“Impatient.”

“I... I ain’t never been patient, s’why I’m so bad at f-fishin’.” He replied breathlessly, rolling his hips again. “ _ C’mon. _ ”

He felt teeth against his skin, and couldn’t help the gasp that left his lips as Charles pulled his fingers out. Adjusting behind him, Charles slicked himself up and then grabbed Arthur’s thigh behind his knee, lifting it up and spreading his legs open.

The blunt tip of Charles’ cock pressed against him, running back and forth with the slow rocking of the man’s hips before it slowly pushed in, and Arthur had to bite down on his arm to stop himself from making any sort of noise at it. Hot and hard, Charles entered him slowly, stopping and pulling back out every few inches before pressing in again, and by the time he was fully inside Arthur was panting into his elbow. 

“A-Alright?” Charles asked, breathy and tense with pleasure, and Arthur nodded. He was more than alright, he was connected so intimately to the man who’d taken his heart, feeling the rush of lust and heat that Charles brought him, the gentle way Charles could tease his body and make him eager for something he’d ignored for years; the desire for another person. 

Charles let him adjust to his size before he started to move, a smooth slide in and out, and the strangeness of the sensation was quicker to melt away than it had been last time. Arthur just let Charles take him, wanted to give himself away, make them both feel good, and didn’t realize he was making so many noises until Charles shushed him, lips against the skin of Arthur’s jaw. 

“Shh... Arthur...” A trail of kisses and then a bite, and Arthur gasped again, burying his face back in his arms to try and keep quiet. The party was still going on outside but it didn’t mean no one else was in the house, and the walls didn’t seem very good for keeping in noise, what with all the holes in them. 

It didn’t help his efforts any when Charles began to speed up, going a little harder and sliding into that spot inside him that made Arthur want to writhe and rock. The cot was squeaking beneath them, and Arthur bit down on his arm, muffling the moans and whimpers that were impossible to stop.

“So sweet, Arthur.” Charles murmured against his skin, biting and sucking on his neck. “You like this, don’t you? Like having me inside?”

Arthur felt a flare through his body and nodded, panting and clenching around Charles in a way that made the other man groan. “ _ Yes. _ ” His voice was higher, tone almost begging, and he knew that he needed to try and keep himself quiet but it was just so hard. 

“Touch yourself for me.” Charles whispered, and Arthur didn’t even think about it before he reached down and grabbed his cock, stroking himself quickly, pushing his hips into his fist and then back onto Charles, the other man moaning quietly. Arthur could feel himself getting close, gripping the edge of the cot with one hand and jerking himself with the other. 

“Charles,  _ Charles _ .” He chanted as quietly as he could, that pressure inside his gut growing tighter, his hand speeding up and his toes starting to curl. The stretch of Charles’ cock inside him set his nerves on fire, made him cant his hips back into it, gasping and whining before it uncoiled in a flurry of sparks. 

Everything muted momentarily; the noises from outside and the squeaking of the cot, and he spent himself thickly over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He only realized he was making too much noise again when Charles let go of his thigh and covered his mouth with a large hand, and for some reason that caused another trembling rush to run through his body.

Charles went hard into him then, breathing rough and fast as Arthur shivered and did his best to keep his leg up. He felt so sensitive, and he was glad for Charles’ hand over his mouth for all the little whimpers that escaped him. It wasn’t much longer before Charles groaned into the back of Arthur’s neck, hips stuttering and slamming in deep as he released himself inside, rutting a few more times through his climax before he went still. 

They were both left panting and sweaty, bodies loose and hearts racing, and somehow Arthur had a few strands of Charles’ hair in his mouth. But he hardly cared about that. Slowly, Charles moved his hand down to rest limply against Arthur’s waist, and Arthur let his leg down and turned his head to catch Charles in a kiss, lazy and heated and soft and deep. He had to pull away to breathe soon enough, and let his head flop down on his pillow, little shudders still running through him and eyes refusing to remain open.

He wanted to say it. They were there in his mouth, those three words, but he wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t difficult in theory, but Arthur still couldn’t get them to come out. Those words held a lot to them, nothing he didn’t feel, but sometimes it seemed those words were bigger than anything else. It was hard. But that was okay too, because he got the feeling that Charles didn’t feel so different when he leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek, almost ridiculous with how tender it was, before slowly pulling out and climbing over him, standing and rummaging through Arthur’s things to find something to clean off with. He was gentle and careful when he came back and ran a rag between Arthur’s legs, cleaning up his spend and any leftover oil, and then tossing it aside to climb back into the bed behind him. He wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him close, giving more little kisses against Arthur’s neck and shoulder before they both drifted off, sweaty and tired and far from lonely.

\---

_ It was bright, and the sun was warm against Arthur’s back. Warm, but not too hot. Bright, but not blinding. A nice day, pleasant. Boadicea was calm beneath him, an easy trot that was almost hypnotic in the way it made him sway from side to side.  _

_ They’d come back to this part of the country after nearly four months away, and Arthur had a heavy clip of money in his satchel for Eliza and a bag of candy and some chocolate bars for Isaac. He knew Eliza didn’t like him bringing the boy so many sweets, but he couldn’t help but use it as an excuse to slightly indulge his own sweet tooth. He liked to see the boy smile, liked to make him happy, and he hoped that bringing sweets with him whenever he came to visit would help his son form good memories of him, even if they weren’t so frequent as he would like. _

_ But that was just the life he lived, and Eliza hadn’t wanted to come to camp with him and move around so much, hadn’t wanted to be in danger like they both knew she would be if she’d gotten anymore involved in his life. Perhaps not  _ safe _ , a young woman and her son all alone out here would never be safe. Still, safer than living with a bunch of outlaws, and better for the boy, too. Probably. Arthur wasn’t so sure, he didn’t have a lot of experience to fall back on when it came to raising a child. Certainly his own father had given him nothing but bad examples. So maybe, Arthur reasoned to himself, if he just did the opposite of everything his father had done he’d be doing alright. _

_ He turned the bend in the curving mountain road that would set him up to see that little blue house at the top of the hill, with the washing hanging outside and the yellow flowers growing by the porch. But as he came up that bend, he froze. _

_ Instead of what he’d expected to see, there was a blackened wooden skeleton that seemed far too big to be Eliza’s little blue house. Rafters and debris that had fallen in on itself, piles of ash and charcoal that had once been a home. And sitting outside, in front of two little crosses, was John.  _

_ He stumbled down from Bo’s saddle, feeling the earth rock beneath his feet as he came up to his brother. The man was sobbing, rough voice cracked and broken. _

_ “What...” The word left his lips and he felt frozen with shock. John turned to him, tears streaming down his face, scars pulled up in despair.  _

_ “We were too late.” He sobbed, digging his fingers into the charred soil. “They’re gone.” _

_ “No.” Arthur’s throat constricted, his eyes burned, and he stared at the wooden grave markers that sat above the freshly dug ground. A larger patch, and one that was far too small. That grave was too small. It shouldn’t be so small, there should never be a grave that was so very little.  _

_ His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell hard into the ashy ground. His hands were suddenly covered in the black soot, - he was covered - and tasted smoke in the back of his throat. It was hot, now, like a blaze, and he looked up and saw the house burning. A woman screaming from inside, but he couldn’t go to her, a hand on his shoulder keeping him down.  _

_ “She was a wretched woman. Let her burn along with her sons.” Dutch’s voice in his ear, but he couldn’t turn his head to look, locked in place. He didn’t understand.  _

_ “No.” He said again, and those fingers started to dig into the meat of his shoulder, pressing hard enough to hurt. “No.” _

_ “Do you doubt me, boy? After all I’ve done for you?” A hissing threat, like the rattle of a diamondback, and Arthur could feel his body start to tremble.  _

_ “No.” Desperate, pleading. He tore his eyes away from the burning mansion and looked to John for help, but he was gone. Dutch was gone. The fire and the woman were gone. He was alone in a ratty little shack in the middle of nowhere, and he was frozen. A green light and too much heat. Terror and confusion and utter horror at the figures he could see all around him, hazy and unclear but wrong. Too tall, too thin, with limbs that reached out and touched him, fingers sinking into his naked flesh, right through his skin to what was inside.  _

_ “Arthur Morgan.” It was in his head, and he tried to turn away, to get up and run, but he was stuck.  _

_ “No.” His eyes watered with the heat and the fear, and it was all he could do to take great heaving breaths, sobbing helplessly as he was laid out on his back. “No. No.” _

_ “Are you ready to begin?” _

_ Something was tearing, being ripped open and pushed aside to make room for something that didn’t belong, and it hurt so much that everything went white and then black. _

\---

Arthur awoke with a jerk, breath getting choked up in his lungs, body tensed and muscles cramped. Everything buzzed and shifted, the room was blurry and his cheeks felt wet. There was silence, the party from outside over, but not even the sounds of swamp creatures was coming through his window. 

He let out a slow, shaky breath, turning his head to try and see the sky outside, and he had to blink a few times at what he saw. Something in his window... an owl? It was big, with a white face and large dark eyes, black eyes. He’d never seen an owl so big, though... He blinked a few more times to try and clear the sleep from his eyes and suddenly it was in the room, standing by the wall and nearly reaching the ceiling. 

A fresh wave of terror seized him, skin prickling and a cold sweat breaking out over his body. He didn’t understand what he was looking at. He could hear Charles’ soft breathing behind him, could feel the man still pressed up against his body, but the entire room seemed wrong now, foreign. 

He couldn’t move. He was on his back the next time he blinked his eyes, staring up at the ceiling and  _ he couldn’t move _ . 

Soft footsteps coming closer. A shadow that blocked out the moonlight coming through his window. He couldn’t turn his head, but he knew someone was looking at him, that tall owl that didn’t belong here.

Everything was green, and there was a cold touch to the side of his head. 

_ “Eight months, three weeks.” _

In a burst he was up, moving before he realized he could, grabbing the knife from his belt on the floor with trembling hands and standing on legs that threatened to buckle. 

“Get away from me!” His voice cracked and his chest heaved. But there was nothing there. The morning sunlight was just rising above the trees outside, and the sounds of Pearson starting breakfast came through the window.

“Arthur?” Charles’ voice, thick with sleep but hesitant and alert all the same. 

There was no one else in here. Just him and Charles. No creeping figure in the shadows, no one looking down at him from a too tall height. No owls in the window staring in at him with eyes that seemed impossibly black and big and  _ wrong _ .

“Arthur, put the knife down.”

He realized he was gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles were white and his fist shook. Slowly he turned back around to Charles, trembling and breathing hard, sweat starting to dry sticky on his skin, and the flesh around his eyes felt puffy and swollen. 

Charles was looking at him, sitting up in bed with the blankets pooled around his naked waist. His eyebrows pulled together and lips tilting down at the edges, a subtle expression of worry.

Arthur let the knife fall from his stiff fingers to clatter against the floor, taking a few shaky steps back to the bed before he all but collapsed on it, springs of the cot creaking in complaint at his sudden weight. 

Neither of them spoke for a moment as Arthur tried to get control of himself, reaching down to fumble in his pants pocket for a cigarette, only to pause and abort the movement of lighting it when he realized he wasn’t holding a match. 

It was just a nightmare. Just a dream. There couldn’t have been anyone in his room, and of course owls weren’t that big, couldn’t speak or tower over him. His stomach still twisted at the thought of it, though.

Charles’ hand on his shoulder made him jump and turn around, and Charles softly exhaled behind him. “It’s just me.”

“I know.” He snapped, harsher than he meant to, defensive, and he instantly regretted it. But his hands were still shaking and the room felt too small, too cramped, and he wanted to get out of here and get outside, get some air, but his legs felt nearly numb and he couldn’t gather his thoughts and everything was a jumble of panic.

Another moment, and then Charles moved, getting out of bed and slowly gathering up his and Arthur’s clothes, pulling his pants on as he set Arthur’s on the bed beside him. Arthur watched him, and then let his head fall, hair obscuring his face as he tried to breathe, unlit cigarette still between his lips.

Charles finished getting dressed in silence, but when Arthur hadn’t moved during that time he paused in front of him, kneeling to try and catch Arthur’s eye. 

“Come on, put some clothes on and we can go get some coffee.” He seemed understanding, not upset or hurt by Arthur’s tone, and the outlaw was struck with how undeserving he was of him. Mary surely would have been offended by how he’d spoken, however unintentional it was.

“Thought you was gonna sneak out before anyone saw you.” He answered, barely able to whisper around the lump in his throat. Charles placed a hand on his knee and scoffed slightly. 

“With how much everyone drank last night, I’d be surprised if anyone other than Pearson and Miss Grimshaw were awake right now. I woke up a few times to all the racket they were making.” He hesitated then, seeming to consider something. “But... if you’d rather I leave first, just to be sure...”

That caused Arthur to look up, to fully look at Charles and see the hesitance in his eyes, the way he was trying to be respectful of Arthur’s feelings even if neither of them seemed to really know what they were right now. Arthur certainly couldn’t even begin to decipher that dream and all the things it had made him feel. But it was just a dream, a nightmare like so many others. Charles was right in front of him, real and safe and kind. Arthur didn’t need to let his dreams linger and torture him during his waking hours...

He shook his head. “No, jus’, uh...jus’ gimme a minute. Sorry.” Charles nodded and pulled away, giving Arthur the time to sort himself out and get dressed. He ended up wiping the drying sweat off his body with his union suit and then tossing it to the side, pulling his pants and shirt on without it. Charles had the right idea; it was just too hot for it even if he felt oddly naked beneath his clothes without the undergarment. 

They both left the room and snuck down the stairs. Uncle was passed out on the bottom step, and they had to step over him carefully to avoid waking up the old drunk. It did seem like most everyone was still asleep or too hungover to properly open their eyes. He expected none of them would notice if Arthur and Charles came down the stairs early in the morning, despite Charles having his own bedroll outside.

What Arthur didn’t expect was to come face to face with Hosea the second he opened the creaky front door. He stopped short, Charles just behind him, and the old man looked at the two of them with a sour and cranky expression on his face. 

“Uh.” Arthur said intelligently, and Hosea just huffed. 

“What, not going to sleep in past noon like the rest of these fools? I swear, with all the noise made last night I’m surprised that we didn’t bring the Pinkertons down on our heads all over again.” Hosea snipped, the creases at the corner of his eyes deepened with a bad night’s sleep. 

Arthur shuffled a little bit, stepping to the side to allow Hosea to come through the door if he so wanted, but the man just stood there with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. 

“Uh, I weren’t... at the party. I went to bed.” Arthur mumbled, and Hosea just rolled his eyes. 

“ _ I know. _ ” He sounded sarcastic, but Arthur wasn’t sure why. Charles made a strangled choking noise behind him, and Arthur turned around to see that the man was looking anywhere but Hosea. 

Arthur had no idea what was going on.

“Well, uh... okay then. ‘M jus’ gonna grab some coffee... I’ll catch you later?” He tried, and Hosea just sighed and shook his head in the way that he did when Arthur was being stupid. Only, Arthur didn’t know what he was being stupid about, which surely meant he was being stupid about  _ something _ .

“Of course Arthur.” The old man pat him on the shoulder and then turned and walked away, towards the gazebo behind the house to no doubt sip his coffee in peace.

Arthur stood there a moment longer, turning his head again to try and catch Charles’ eye, wondering what was going on. The time that Charles had taken him up to Strawberry, Hosea had seemingly cornered Charles, and now Charles wasn’t even willing to look at the man. Were they having some sort of disagreement?

Either way, that was a conversation for another time. So he just made his way over to the cookfire and grabbed one of the tin mugs sat around in the dirt. There was a little leftover whiskey in it, by the smell, but he just poured that out and shook it as best he could before filling it up with coffee, handing it to Charles as he sat down beside him and then found a mug for himself. 

They sat together quietly, drinking their coffee and listening to the morning sounds of the swamp. Birds and insects and all manner of other animals were calling and crying to each other, some far off and some rather close. It was nice, and the natural sounds mixed with the crackling of the fire helped ease some of the lingering anxiety in his chest.

“Sorry.” Arthur mumbled after he’d finished his first cup and was pouring a second. Charles made an inquisitive sound beside him and Arthur cleared his throat. “For talkin’ to you like that earlier. Actin’ crazy.”

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?” At Arthur’s stiff nod, Charles continued. “Even good dreams can be... difficult, sometimes. And after what we talked about last night, I’m not surprised. Though, please don’t go grabbing any knives in your sleep the next time.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, and Arthur scoffed.

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.” He replied dryly. But Charles understood. Of course he would. With the sort of life that Charles had had, with the things he’d been through and the struggles he’d no doubt faced all on his own, he was shocked the man didn’t have nightmares of his own, or if he did, how good he was at hiding them. Charles had hinted at it too, last night. The pain of living, of suffering through everything that life could throw at you. Arthur understood that, and wondered exactly how Charles had come out of it so strong.

Though knowing that his own suffering wouldn’t scare Charles away was... relieving. Maybe they could even... rely on each other for things like this.

He bumped his knee against Charles’, looking at him from under the brim of his hat. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Arthur.” And he knew Charles meant it.

They sat together like that until the camp started to wake up around them, closer to noon than morning, and Charles excused himself to get to work on some chores. Arthur thought about doing that, but there was a pleasant and sharp ache in his lower half - specifically between his legs - that made him want to take it easy for a little while longer. And he was absolutely starving, the smell of Pearson’s cooking causing his stomach to rumble loudly. Smelled like he was making eggs and bacon, and just the thought of it made Arthur’s mouth water.

When he came over to grab some, Pearson batted him away with a spoon. “Nuh-uh, Morgan. I want little Jack to have the first plate. Go see if he’s awake, will you?”

Arthur huffed, but really couldn’t argue with the sentiment, and just nodded his head, looking around for Abigail’s tent and not finding it. “Where’d they get set up?” He asked, and Pearson pointed his spoon at the house.

“Inside, second floor. Across from you, I think.”

“Oh.” Arthur hadn’t heard Jack or Abigail come upstairs the night before, but he’d also been a little... distracted. He hoped that  _ they _ hadn’t heard anything.

Walking back towards the house and stepping over Uncle again - lazy bastard was still snoring away at the foot of the stairs - Arthur came to stop at the door across from his. There was a hole in the wall, but he didn’t want to peek through in case Abigail wasn’t proper, so he just knocked and waited.

Nobody answered, so after another moment or two, he knocked again. “Abigail?” He called out softly. Was she still asleep? He supposed that having your son stolen and then returned, followed by an all night party, was bound to wear anyone out, but he didn’t know her to sleep in this late most of the time.

Still, no answer, and he shifted from foot to foot before gently pushing the door open and peeking his head inside, prepared to pull right back out if she was in any state of undress that wasn’t for his eyes.

But there was no one in there. He blinked, and then stepped into the room, looking around at the empty bed and the empty floors. None of Abigail or Jack’s things were in here. Had Pearson gotten confused? It didn’t seem like anyone had claimed this room at all. Still, it was sort of confusing. Surely he would have seen Abigail outside already if she was sleeping there, or heard Jack. And Pearson had been here when they’d set up the camp - Arthur had not. So it stood to reason that he’d know.

Something caught his eye, and he moved towards the bedside table, picking up a folded piece of paper and opening it curiously. As his eyes scanned down the page, his stomach dropped further and further, thoughts screeching to a halt. Staring, unable to believe what he was reading, he did the only thing he could think of. 

“Dutch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. 
> 
> Also, for anyone who doesn't know; in Shady Belle Hosea's room is right below Arthur's, I think? At the very least a lot of his stuff is in there, I never actually looked before the bank job ;w;


	15. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the longest chapter, and that's because this was originally part of one chapter which was WAY too long, so I had to cut it in half. 
> 
> I love you guys, thank you so much for all the support!!  
> Edit: THIS FIC NOW HAS [FANART!!! ](https://mobile.twitter.com/DrgfN/status/1352353318064988161)
> 
> I'm so beyond flattered and it's honestly amazing! Done by the outstanding [I_am_fruit!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_fruit/pseuds/I_am_fruit)

_ Arthur, _

_ I know what I’m doing is going to piss you off, and I suppose rightly so, but I hope that you’ll also be proud of me, eventually, for doing the right thing. Or what I think is the right thing. _

_ I’m taking Abigail and Jack, and we’re getting out - out of the gang, of the life, of all of this. I realize I haven’t been a good father or a good man, not to Abigail or Jack or anyone else. Jack being taken - It’s made me think about things in a new way. I guess I always thought that Jack would never really be a part of all this, and I was wrong. He’s in this as much as anyone, maybe more so because he can’t decide for himself what he wants. He’s grown up around a bunch of outlaws and drunks, on the run his entire life, and he’s never had the chance to really be a kid. We’ve all loved him, and I know you’ve loved him too, and that’s why I hope you’ll understand why I’m doing this. _

_ Abigail told me she was going to leave with Jack, that night after we came back from the Braithwaites. She told me she’d do it no matter what I chose, but she wanted me to come with her, wanted me to be a father to the boy, and after everything that’s happened I didn’t find it as hard to agree with her as I thought I might. She gave me until we got him back to decide, and I guess I’ve made my decision. _

_ Last time I left the gang was because I was running away, something I know you’ve resented me for these past few years. You were right for that. But now I’m leaving because I want something better - not for myself, but for my family. I can’t think only about myself anymore. It’s not just my life that’s affected by the things I do, the things we all do. You told me to stop trying to be two different people at once, and at the time I didn’t know what you meant, but now I think I do. I can’t be a father  _ _ and _ _ an outlaw, I’ve got to make a choice. Well, I did, and I think that it’s finally the right one. _

_ I know you’ll tell Dutch and Hosea, and I know the rest of the gang is going to find out probably as soon as they do, and I’m just hoping that you’ll all let us go. I’m begging. Please, let me give a life to my son that he deserves. Let me keep him safe. Let me be a father. _

_ I’m sorry, but I’m done running away from this. Almost dying up on that mountain didn’t give me the wake up call it should have, and I’m ashamed as a man that it took my son's life getting put at risk to do it, but I know now that he’s the most important thing I’ll ever have. I know you’ll understand.  _

_ You’re my brother, and I think that despite everything I've done and how mad you’ve been at me, you’ll forgive me for this and I can have your blessing. _

_ Thank you for everything, and I hope one day to see you again. _

_ John _

The fallout from that letter had been catastrophic.

After calling Dutch in a panic, Arthur had sat on that bed in that big empty room and waited for Dutch and Hosea to read it. Hosea, of course, had come running at Arthur’s panicked shout. And then all three of them had stayed there, Arthur at least paralyzed by his shock, along with the flood of other emotions that were running through him. 

He was furious, heartbroken, and happier and more proud of John than he’d ever been. He was so jealous it made him sick. He was terrified that something would go wrong and John would get caught or killed out there with no gang to back him up. He was hopeful that Jack might get to live a life that would be better than any of their own. He felt betrayed. Part of him was half expecting Abigail and Jack to come back and tell them John had abandoned them on the road after getting cold feet. 

How far could they really have gone in a night, anyway? None of the wagons looked to be missing, although Old Boy certainly was, as well as one of the Walkers they kept around camp for the girls to use. Where would John even take them? They couldn’t go back west, and they’d already run as far south as they could. Did they go further east and travel to the big city? He doubted John would want to go anywhere near Saint Denis right now, so could they have gone even further? Or did they go north, maybe to Canada? Knowing John, he’d be directionless, but knowing Abigail she’d tell him right quick where to head to. 

He picked his head up from his hands at the sound of the paper rustling, and saw Hosea putting the letter to the side and hooking his thumbs into his belt, a look on his face that Arthur didn’t understand. He didn’t seem angry, more so he seemed sad and... pleased? It was a little too difficult to parse out the types of things Hosea might be feeling, Arthur never having been all that good at figuring out the moods of others.

Dutch looked furious. This wasn’t like last time, where he’d said from the beginning that John would be back - it was clear from the letter that he had no intention to return. The fact that he’d even written a letter instead of just vanishing in the night without a word had an air of finality to it that was hard to miss. 

There was a code, and John knew it. Leaving like this was like spitting in the face of everything Dutch had given him, all he’d taught him. Arthur knew that there was no way John would be allowed back, not now and not ever. 

“Mount up, Arthur.” The sharp snap of Dutch’s words made him stiffen in place, and he looked at Dutch for a moment, unsure what the man was asking of him. 

“What for?” He asked, his own voice weaker than he would have liked. “He’s long gone by now, I don’t even know where to start lookin’, and-”

“So you just want to let him go?” He stalked forward, getting right up in Arthur’s face and shocking him into raising his hands and leaning back. “You aren’t even going to go looking for him? I gave you an  _ order _ , Arthur. Mount. Up.” His voice was that cracking, terrifying thing, and Arthur shrunk back from it even further.

“And then what, Dutch?” Hosea broke in, and Dutch backed off to spin around, glaring at the old man and gritting his teeth at him. 

“What do you mean  _ ‘and then what’ _ ? We go get him  _ back _ !” He burst, as if it was obvious and Hosea was a fool for even asking. But the conman didn’t back down, just crossed his arms and stood his ground, straightening his spine. 

“You read the letter, same as I did. He doesn’t  _ want _ to come back. What are you even planning on doing if you find him? Are you going to drag him back here, kicking and screaming? Keep him tied up in camp? What about Abigail and the boy? Are you going to take them too and hold them hostage?” It was a blunt challenge, and Hosea was alone in his ability to do such a thing to Dutch without consequences. 

Dutch just spluttered at that, spreading his arms out wide and looking at Hosea with a spiky hurt, and then turned to Arthur, glancing between the two. 

“What? No! Hosea I would  _ never _ ! Do you really think I’d do something like that?” And just as quickly, the wind left his sails, and he looked punched out, deflated. Arthur didn’t like seeing that either. “No, I would never hurt him, or Abigail. I just... want to talk. Ask him  _ why _ . Didn’t he trust us to keep Jack safe? We’re a family, ain’t we? And he just...  _ leaves _ ?” He sounded wounded, and Arthur almost wanted to tell Dutch that he would go and find John, track him down just to ask, but he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. 

Hosea knew it too, thank God. Because he just walked forward and put his hand on Dutch’s shoulder. “Don’t all children leave home eventually?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, but his tone and his face were soft, sympathetic. “I don’t like it either, Dutch. I’m worried sick already, and it hasn’t even been a day. And just look at Arthur.” They both turned to look at him, and he stared back, unsure what was written over his face, but Dutch seemed to see something there either way. 

“John has a family of his own to think about.” He softened his tone further, and Arthur looked back down, staring at the half-rotten floorboards and scuffing the heel of his boot against it. “Can you really say you don’t understand why he’s done this? His  _ son _ got kidnapped... of course we want to protect Jack, protect all of them, but... I guess it ain’t so different from me leaving with Bessie all those years ago. Now, that didn’t work out, but it doesn’t mean we need to run after them and force them back here. Things are getting dangerous, Dutch, maybe it’s for the best not to have a little boy to worry about. If the Pinkterons came in, guns blazing, do you really think they’d stop shooting if he got caught up in the crossfire?”

Silence hung heavy in the room, but it was not charged with the anger of before. It was thick and choking, and Arthur rubbed at his face and let out a weighted sigh.

“So, then what do we do?” Dutch asked, muted and bland. “What do we tell everyone?”

“We tell them the truth, Dutch. We tell them that John and Abigail have gone to give Jack a better life.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That’s why he’d left. To give Jack a better life. And Arthur agreed, at least, that the reason was noble and selfless enough. It wasn’t John running away from his problems and responsibilities... Arthur would have wanted a goodbye, but he also couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have tried to convince John to stay, or to wait, or just changing his mind in one way or another. The truth of it was that he didn’t want Jack to be at risk ever again, and even if he was pissed at John for just leaving in the middle of the night like that... he understood, too. And he wouldn’t have tried to change Abigail’s mind, wasn’t about to get between a mother and her son. He would just... miss them.

\---

They gathered everyone outside, Dutch and Hosea standing on the front steps of the house, Arthur leaning against one of the pillars and trying not to look at anyone. He knew his face was an open book right now, and he’d at least rather know what he was feeling before he displayed it to everyone else. 

They all seemed anxious, worried. No doubt they’d noticed that Abigail and Jack weren’t here, and of course after what had happened it was reasonable to fear the worst. They were all shifting around and looking at each other, and Dutch took a moment to gaze over everyone, arms crossed and back straight.

“No doubt by now you’ve all realized some of our dear family are missing. I don’t want any of you to be alarmed, but it is indeed true; John, Abigail, and little Jack are gone.”

There was a mild uproar, Mary-Beth covering her mouth in shock and Bill growling out a rough “Where the Hell’d they go?!”

“Now now, everyone, calm down.” Dutch raised his hands, and the gang calmed after a moment or two. He waited another moment before speaking again. “It seems they left last night after the party, and it appears that they left of their own volition. John wrote a letter and left it for Arthur. Now, all three of us have read this letter, and while it hurts me to say it, it’s fairly clear that they left freely and are not in any danger, as we know it.”

“But why?” Tilly called out, and there were murmurs of question among the group. 

“Why indeed?” Dutch asked back, and then sighed. “John and Abigail have apparently decided that for the sake of their son, they wanted to leave us, get out of the life. He chose safety over freedom, and can we truly blame him when he has a young boy and a woman to think about?” He looked out over them all, catching the eyes of each and every one of them, waiting until they’d all looked at him and he at them before continuing. 

“With all the heat we have on us, with all the danger that is creeping in and all these  _ threats _ against us, I suppose that this was just too  _ risky _ for him and Abigail. And with men like the ones who hound us, who have no mercy in their hearts, no humanity, they would readily and thoughtlessly make young Jack an orphan if they had their way. They would make orphans of all of us; widows and widowers, breaking our family apart as they have broken the dreams of countless others.”

Ms Grimshaw nodded, and a few of the others had hardened looks in their eyes and they gave their verbal agreement. Arthur was watching from beneath the shadow of his hat, saw how Lenny’s jaw tensed and Javier’s hands twitched by his side. No doubt thinking of their own losses and the way ‘justice’ had failed each of them.

“John and Abigail have  _ chosen _ to leave us, a choice I know they did not make lightly. I do not know if it was the right choice, but it was made out of love, and isn’t that all we have, truly?”

“So they just abandoned us? We’re their family too! What about loyalty?” Javier shouted, and the group seemed split on that. The girls didn’t look so sure. 

Dutch looked Javier in the eyes. “You, my boy, are one of the most loyal men I have ever met.” Arthur could see the pride in Javier’s eyes as Dutch said that, and he knew Javier valued his loyalty and his dedication to Dutch above anything else. “And I hold that dear to my heart. But John has found something  _ else _ to be loyal to, and can we fault him for that?”

“There is nothing else to be loyal to other than you, Boss!” Micah piped up, and Arthur sneered at that. He doubted Micah was truly as loyal as he proclaimed to be, but he saw how it lit up Dutch’s eyes all the same.

“I appreciate that, Micah.” He looked up at the assembled group at large. “And I appreciate  _ all _ of you; you’ve kept your faith in me through all these troubles, and I do not take any of that lightly.” He paused here, and several members of the gang nodded and took visible solace in those words.

“It is the pursuit of safety that has led John and Abigail to hurt us, however unintentionally. So we will let them go.” He trailed his eyes over the group. “Is that  _ clear _ ? We will respect their wishes, and let them go.” He waited until he saw people nodding. “This is not a prison camp, none of you is  _ forced _ to remain here. I  _ want _ you all here, I love you all and I  _ need _ you all, but none of you is forced to be here.  _ However _ ,” And here Dutch’s tone became stern, immovable. “There is a code, and for the safety of the rest of us we cannot allow people to come and go, to treat us with flippancy and disregard. John and Abigail have left us, and they cannot so easily come back. So I say now that if any one of you wishes to leave, now is the time.”

Silence, stillness. Nobody moved or tried to speak up. Arthur doubted that anyone would, with the pressure of Dutch’s words. The threat of being alone was more than enough for most of the group, even those whose loyalty did not run as deep as Javier or Arthur or, perhaps, Micah.

“Then I can hold it securely in my heart that all of you are with me? That you will all continue to trust me to keep you safe, warm, fed, and for us all to seek out our freedom together? The world may have tossed you all aside, but with me you have a place, if you want it.”

There were agreements, nods and shouts, a stoking of an ember into a flame.

Arthur was struck by how good Dutch was at speaking like this, and he even felt his own heart lift a little at his mentor's words. This was the Dutch who had inspired him, who had taken him off the streets and made him believe in something other than the pure struggle of survival. Arthur may have been a little too jaded to think there was a way out of this life, not for ones like him who had known nothing else, and he’d been worrying about that lately more than he ever had, but Dutch was so sure that they could get away and make a life for themselves... and who was he to argue? Certainly he wasn’t as smart as Dutch was, wasn’t a leader or a planner.

“Alright.” Dutch nodded, looking like a king presiding over his subjects. And wasn’t he, in some way? “With John gone, I want you all to know that we’re  _ all _ going to have to work a little harder. We can’t afford to have any slack, especially now. The Pinkertons are still after us, and we can’t slow down and let them creep up on us. We’ll be out of this soon, as long as you all work hard and follow my lead. Let us do what needs to be  _ done _ , and we will find paradise  _ together _ .”

As Dutch spoke with a finality that signaled the end of his speech, he turned to Hosea and the two of them walked inside, no doubt to speak over the plans that Dutch had formed in his head, adjust things with the fact of John’s absence. 

The girls went off together, whispering to each other with their heads bowed together, and Arthur wondered what they might be discussing. He wasn’t privy to everything they talked about together, even if they generally shared most of the gossip with him. 

Most of the men went back to chores, or their watch posts at the edges of the property. Pearson went back to his wagon, Swanson and Strauss were by themselves, and Micah was watching the house with a look in his eye as if he wanted to go after Dutch and speak to him, but knew better than to interrupt him when he was with Hosea. 

Arthur didn’t know what to do. He was a bit more settled after Dutch’s speech, but it didn’t erase all of his worries. He did take something from Dutch’s words though; the man was right. He would have to work harder to make up for the space John had left. And maybe, if he worked hard enough, it would numb out the anxiety that crawled just beneath his skin. 

He really hoped that John would manage to get away and stay away, that he’d be able to keep Jack safe. He also wanted to punch his brother for doing this to him.

\---

He’d stayed in camp the rest of the day, not wanting to leave when everyone still seemed so on edge. Twice he’d had to intervene between Ms Grimshaw and one of the girls, and it was clear that there was a very steep divide in camp between those who supported John and Abigail’s decision, and those who took it as betrayal. 

There was also now a free room in the house, a big one, and it was unclear who might get it. Of course Micah wanted it for himself, but Arthur would have rather let a copperhead bite him on the face than have that man sleeping so close to him. It was not up to him, however, and Dutch was still speaking with Hosea several hours later, so for the night it remained empty. 

Arthur wished he could have had Charles join him in his room, but nobody was distracted enough to let that go unnoticed, and in fact, people seemed to be more aware of who was around than before. Charles vanishing from his bedroll at night and coming down the stairs in the morning would surely be seen by someone, and so Arthur slept alone.

When he arose the next morning from another blurry memory of strange and horrible dreams, he got dressed and made his way outside, grabbing some breakfast and plopping down at a table, rubbing sleep from his eyes and generally feeling unrested and fatigued. When Tilly approached him, he tried his best to smile at her, though more realistically it came out as a grimace.

“Mornin’ Arthur.” She smiled back either way, and sat herself beside him.

“Mornin’ Miss Tilly.” He cleared his throat and rubbed at his face, mechanically stuffing a spoonful of eggs into his mouth. Tilly watched him for a moment and then smirked a little, rolling her eyes. 

“Strauss went to Saint Denis yesterday, got the mail transferred over from Rhodes. You got a letter from Mary.” She had that knowing look in her eyes, that hunger for gossip, and Arthur almost choked on his eggs. He had to turn his head to cough and clear his throat before looking back at her, and now he could see the letter held in her hands. Still sealed, thank God.

“... Oh. Thank you, Miss Tilly.” He held his hand out for it, and she passed it to him with a smile. 

“I didn’t know you were speaking to her again.” She probed, and Arthur sighed slightly, tucking the letter away in his pocket and going back to his breakfast. 

“I didn’t either.” He grumbled. After that small fiasco with Jamie nearly shooting himself after joining some cult of weirdos, he’d figured her words to him at the train station were the last he’d ever hear. Apparently not. She’d been right, in some ways. He hadn’t really changed, at least not in the ways she’d wanted him to. He still killed and robbed and conned people, hadn’t really worked an honest day in his life. And now... well, now he was certain that the one change he  _ had _ made would be the one she’d like the least.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around camp until they settled on Charles, dutifully fletching arrows by the fire. Those careful hands and kind eyes, they were something so special. He wondered how Mary might take the news, if he ever were to tell her that his heart belonged to someone else. Surely he’d never do it, especially not so plainly as to admit to the  _ disturbance _ in his sexuality, but did she still have feelings for him, even after what she’d said?

_ I think of you often _ and  _ You’ll never change, I know that _ . What did those two things mean, when put together?

“Arthur?” Tilly touched his arm, and he turned back to her so fast he nearly got a crick in his neck, wincing slightly. 

“Sorry, Miss. I was miles away. What’d you say?”

Tilly leveled him with a flat look, one that was far too knowing, and he had to look down at the table for fear that he’d give something away.

“I was  _ asking _ , Arthur, if you were holdin’ up alright? I know that you and John were... well, you fought like brothers.” She worded it so carefully, as to avoid damaging his masculine pride, but she didn’t need to.

“I’m hurt.” He admitted to her, softly. He wouldn’t keep things like this from the girls, he knew they would understand. And if he tried to lie to them they’d just find out anyway. They always did. “And scared, a bit, I guess. I don’t wanna hear ‘bout him gettin’ caught or killed.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Arthur.” Tilly hummed, taking his coffee mug and sipping from it, not that he tried to stop her. “You men don’t often see it, but we’re just as smart an’ capable of survivin’ as the rest of you. Abigail’s with him, and she’ll make sure he don’t make no dumb mistakes.”

“I don’t doubt that, Miss Tilly, not at all. I jus’ hope it’s enough.” He sighed, finishing up his breakfast and then straightening up his spine, feeling a few satisfying pops. “Either way, I should probably be gettin’ on. Someone’s gotta make up for John’s absence an’ I can’t see  _ Swanson _ doin’ that.”

Tilly gave a small laugh. “No, neither can I.” She stood up, taking his plate and receiving a small thanks in return, before she went off towards the wash basin and left him to his own devices. 

Of course, making money was easier said than done. With Rhodes, Valentine, and Strawberry a little too risky to try and work in, that left Saint Denis as the primary source of work. Maybe he oughta try looking for something a little more honest, to keep a low profile? Of course, he could also just find a spot by the road and hold up any passing travelers. That didn’t always work in his favor, though, and sometimes it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d had guns pulled on him like that before, with people too stupid or too stubborn to give up what they had. But Saint Denis was full of rich folk and poor folk alike, the desperate and the decadent, so perhaps the best thing to do for now would be to simply get a better feel for the place?

He didn’t really want to do anything that might step on Angelo Bronte’s toes, as it were, seeing as the man seemed to think the city belonged to him... 

Well, as much as he may not like it, it was probably best to get an idea of what the city was like, as they were no doubt going to have to work jobs in there soon enough. Dutch seemed to be planning to attend that party at the Mayor’s house, and Arthur was sure he’d spend that time looking for opportunities to sink his teeth into.

But he wanted to put that off for just a little while longer. He went back inside, upstairs to his room and sat on his cot, pulling Mary’s letter out of his pocket and opening it up.

_ My Dear Arthur, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your help with Jamie. He and daddy are still arguing, but I understand that Jamie is thinking about going back to college. Whatever happens, I believe you saved his life, and we are all truly grateful. _

_ Oh Arthur, I have made such a mess of my life, time and again. Why can I not change and be the woman I want to be? Why couldn’t you change and be a man and put down all those fantasies that shroud your judgement?  _

_ Life is very confusing and I see now that I am not very good at it. I am afraid we have got ourselves into another mess. It’s not my fault, but I need your help. I’m staying at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. Oh Arthur, I know it is wrong to ask you, but I have nobody else and for what we once had together, I beg of you, even though I am ashamed to do so. _

_ Yours, _

_ Mary _

He wouldn’t admit how his stomach clenched as he set the letter down, folding it back up and placing it on the table by his bed. Why were  _ letters _ the cause of so much trouble for him lately?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny boys gone, and Mary wants some help, what's new? 
> 
> Also, I felt like I wanted to make Dutch's impromptu speech sound very cultish, because that's sort of how I feel like he acts, and how he keeps people with him. He inspires people while manipulating them at the same time, which is like... a very dark charisma. He makes people feel like they can't live without him, and also like they don't even want to, no matter how hard things get they trust him to fix it and save them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi, here's this 23 PAGE MONSTROUSITY of a chapter. It took me literally two weeks to write and edit this thing. I had to cut down as much as I could, and I'm sure there might be mistakes in here, so if you find any please feel free to tell me! This is the second half of the previous chapter, and I think you guys can probably tell why I had to cut it in half somewhere XD unfortunately, that seemed to be the only place that felt natural to do it. 
> 
> I also want to make it clear that I really like Mary as a character, but the way she says certain things and how some of her reactions to Arthur seem very opposed to each other strikes me as a sort of... emotional roller coaster, which can't really be healthy for her or our boah. So yeah not meaning to bash her, and that's now how this chapter is intended, but her and Arthur's relationship does not strike me as the healthiest.

Mary wanted his help again, that was why she’d written. Not to ask about him or become close again, but because he was useful. Good for nothing other than to do a job - a different sort of job than one Dutch might send him on, but that was it wasn’t it? 

He wanted to throw the damn letter away and pretend he’d never gotten it, but he couldn’t. He was admittedly bitter about it; how she’d taken his ring but rejected his feelings and yet still wanted him to come running when it was convenient. She’d only contacted him after she’d been widowed, after the man she’d chosen instead of him had died. But... she was asking for help, and despite the way it made those old wounds in his heart ache, he knew he couldn’t ignore her.

He began to gather his things when there was a little knock on his flimsy door, and Hosea pushed it open.

“Alright there, son?” He asked, looking over Arthur’s face and the revolver in his hand.

“Sure.” He replied gruffly, holstering his gun. “You need somethin’?”

“Not as such. I was coming to tell you that Dutch doesn’t want anybody leaving camp alone for the time being, pairs or small groups only. I take it you’re about to head out?” It was more out of politeness than of actual curiosity that he was asking; it was rather apparent that Arthur was about to go.

“Uh, yeah. Was jus’ gonna head into the city, see what I could find.” He answered, and of course Hosea’s eyes glanced at the letter sitting on the table. “Why’s Dutch wantin’ people in pairs?”

“He’s worried about the possibility of John or Abigail getting picked up. Neither of us think they’d talk, but if Jack were to be threatened they might. It’s just to make sure no one gets caught unawares, no easy targets. Why don’t you take Charles?” He suggested, and Arthur coughed a little bit, shifting on his heels and shrugging. 

“Uh, don’t really think that’s necessary. Jus’ goin’ into town...” He took the letter from the table and shoved it into his satchel, but Hosea undoubtedly already knew who it was from; the girls didn’t just share their gossip with  _ him _ after all.

“Dutch is being firm on this, Arthur. If you don’t want to take Charles, I suppose you could take Bill.” There was a knowing look on the old man’s face that Arthur didn’t trust for an instant, and he scowled slightly.

“Hosea, it’s jus’ some personal business, I don’t need no one comin’ with me.” He didn’t want to back down on this, but Hosea didn’t seem like he was going to either.

“It’s not up for discussion Arthur, at least not with me. If you want to argue take it up with Dutch.” Hosea sighed - a father arguing with his overgrown son.

There was a beat of silence as Arthur and Hosea looked at each other, but eventually Arthur relented, looking away and scowling at the floor. “Fine. Ain’t gonna run away though, you know that, right?”

“That’s not what it’s about, and the rule applies to everyone, not just you son.” Hosea smiled at him either way, but he looked more tired than Arthur had seen him in a long while, and he knew that John’s leaving was taking its own toll on the man. Dutch had barely left him alone for more than a few hours, and he was no doubt planning for how to make up for Martson’s absence. 

“Yeah, alright, fine. I’ll let you know if anythin’ happens while I’m out.” He didn’t want to argue with Dutch about this, and he didn’t want to take out his agitation on Hosea, so for right now it was just better to go along with it. Hopefully this new rule would be short lived.

He could understand it, on some levels. It was why the code was in place at all; if people left there was the chance that the gang's position could be leaked and the law could come down on them. It wasn’t necessarily anything against the person, but it was just meant for the safety of the group at large. 

“Thank you. I saw Charles behind the house.” And with that he turned and left, but not before Arthur caught sight of the expression on his face. Mischief? He wasn’t sure what was going on between Hosea and Charles lately, but it was almost as if there was some secret game they were playing without him knowing. 

He didn’t have the time or energy to try and figure it out now, though.

Making his way down the stairs and out through the back door, he found Charles exactly where Hosea had said he’d be. He was leaning against the crumbling half-sunken mausoleum, staring out over the swamp and smoking a cigarette. Arthur just looked at him for a moment before coming to stand beside him.

“Hey.” Charles greeted softly, turning his head slightly, arms crossed loosely over his chest and cigarette held between his fingers. He made an attractive figure, and Arthur felt his stomach flip just a little bit.

“Hey.” Arthur didn’t bother to hide his staring or how his voice was a little softer. Holding his fingers out for the cigarette, he expected Charles to just pass it to him, but instead of that Charles took a look around and then reached over to press the butt of it directly against Arthur’s lips.

His stomach did another somersault, and his eyes were locked with Charles’ as he took a slow drag, parting his lips and exhaling as Charles pulled back, his heart beating faster and his face a little warm, and Charles had that small smile on his face as he brought the cigarette up to his lips. 

Almost like they were sharing a kiss, in an odd way. 

Arthur realized his mouth was still open when Charles laughed. “Did you need something, Arthur?”

“Ah, oh.” He cleared his throat and looked around, but of course no one else was able to see them all the way back here. “Yeah. Had some business in the city, and Dutch don’t want no one goin’ off alone right now. So... I was wonderin’ if you’d wanna come with me?”

“To Saint Denis?” Charles clarified, and Arthur nodded. “Yeah, alright. I haven’t been there yet, might as well get a look for myself. Dutch is probably going to want us to run jobs there soon, right?”

“I expect so.” Arthur moved off towards the horses as he spoke, Charles flicking the last of his cigarette into the mud and followed. 

“This new rule must be because of John, right?” He asked softly, keeping his voice down, and Arthur did at least appreciate that.

“Yeah. He never really cared before if I went off on my own, I done that for years... I guess he’s jus’... dunno, bein’ cautious.” He shrugged. “John left once, years ago, I told you about that. It were a long time, but Dutch acted like nothin’ happened. This time, though... it’s different. They’re both takin’ it hard, him and Hosea.”

Even if John tried to come back... Dutch had made it clear in his speech without directly saying it, but neither John nor Abigail nor probably even Jack would be allowed to return this time. It was final.

“How are  _ you  _ feeling?” Charles asked, and Arthur shrugged. 

“Dunno. Can’t do nothin’ about it... can’t change it, can only hope it goes the way they want.” He replied slowly, both of them taking their time getting the horses ready, Charles brushing out Taima’s coat and Arthur feeding Beast some sugar cubes. By now it was habit to sneak a few to Taima as well, and Charles only rolled his eyes as he watched Arthur do it.

“So, you’re not mad?” Charles began to saddle Taima, not looking at him as he focused on what he was doing, and Arthur wondered if it was in some attempt to lessen the pressure of these questions. He wondered if it was working. 

“Well...” Arthur was a lot of things. Hurt and scared, like he’d admitted to Tilly, but also... sad. Angry. Jealous. Too many things to work through in his head just yet. “Kinda.” He mumbled. “But it’s done. He made his own damn choices, same as any of us.”

“Yeah, he did.” Charles agreed with a slow nod. “But it still matters how it makes you feel, you know. Even if nothing can be done about it.”

Arthur didn’t have a response for that, wasn’t sure there even was one. So he just nodded. “Sure.”

They mounted up and headed towards Saint Denis, the big stinking jewel of civilization that it was, he could smell it’s distinct odor long before he could see the smoggy haze that rested above the claustrophobic buildings and their artificial lights. Arthur was anxious about this; meeting Mary and bringing Charles. Maybe he should have asked Lenny to come instead, or Javier? He wasn’t sure he wanted his current and former passions to meet.

“So what’s this job?” Charles spoke up as they crossed from dirt to cobblestone, their pace sedate as Arthur looked around to try and catch sight of any ‘Hotel Grand’.

“Uh, ain’t a job. ‘S personal. Uh... you know about Mary, right?” Arthur knew he did, at least vaguely, and so he continued on without waiting for a response. “Well, she sent me a letter askin’ for help, so... figured I’d go an’ see what she might need.”

“She asked for your help?” Charles seemed surprised by that, and Arthur supposed it  _ was  _ strange to go help a woman who’d rejected his offer of marriage and broken his heart, which was probably all Charles knew about her.

“Yeah. Don’t know what it's about, though, her letter didn’t exactly say.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tight pull of his shirt over his chest. Damn thing had shrunk again or something.

“That’s very kind of you, Arthur.” Charles said softly, and Arthur just shrugged. There was something else in his tone, but already Arthur was feeling too worn out to decipher it.

“I ain’t agreed to help her yet.” He mumbled, but they both knew he would.

It took awhile longer before Arthur was able to find the hotel - a big opulent thing right in the heart of the city - and as they caught sight of it someone caught sight of them, a familiar voice shouting from the balcony.

“Arthur! Arthur! Up here!” Mary, her hair windswept and her dress all sorts of fancy, and even though it was hard to see from across the street he thought she might be smiling.

They left the horses and walked over to stand below the balcony, craning their necks to look up at her.

“You came!” She sounded as surprised as Charles had. 

“Yeah, I came.” Arthur gave an awkward laugh. “So, uh... what’d you need?” He called, and noticed that several people were watching him, or watching Charles, or maybe watching them both. He glared at them until they hurried on.

“Wait there, I’m coming straight down.” Mary vanished from view. 

Arthur cleared his throat, thumbs in his belt, and he glanced at Charles briefly to see the other man watching him with slight curiosity. He wasn’t sure what to tell him, and certainly wasn’t sure what he could tell him out here in the open like this. Did Charles think he still had feelings for Mary? He didn’t, and even if he did they weren’t the sort of thing one would consider romantic, especially when Charles had already shown him how it felt to  _ be _ romanced, and not just the one doing the courting. Being involved with another man certainly had its share of complications, but not like how it had been with Mary.

Still, he couldn’t help but try and make sure his hair was alright, and that his shirt was properly tucked in and he didn’t have anything in his teeth. Charles rolled his eyes, stepping forward and adjusting his collar with fingers that trailed a little too long over his neck, tucking his hair behind his ears and making his face a little pink. 

Mary came out right then, of course, and Charles smoothly stepped away, creating an appropriate distance between them. Still, she looked curiously and cautiously at Charles before approaching Arthur with her hands clutched in front of her. 

“Arthur...” She was smiling wearily. This close up, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, and how her braided bun had a few too many flyaways to be perfect. He would have thought she might look better than last he’d seen her, but if anything she looked a little more worn down. 

“Hello Mary.” 

“You came.” She repeated, as if it was hard to believe. And was it? Was his coming here so difficult to understand even to the one who’d asked it of him?

“Sure.” He nodded. Maybe both of their shock at his decision to answer her call was an indication of his poor choice. But it was too late now.

“Oh Arthur...” Mary wrung her hands, looking distressed and hesitant, and some part of Arthur always hated to see a woman this way, no matter who it was.

“What’s wrong?”

“Daddy...” She trailed off after only a word, but it was enough.

“Your father?” He growled, feeling as if someone had slapped him in the face or dunked his head in icy water. “I’m a bigger fool than I even thought.” This was about her father of all people? Helping Mary was one thing, but helping that old bastard? He’d rather drown himself.

“I’m begging you, Arthur...” She pled, looking at him with those big dark eyes, and he wondered if he just had a weakness for them as the sudden flash of anger cooled enough for him to listen. “I know daddy was not... kind to you, but... but surely you cannot hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter, and wanting better for her than... than...”

“Than me?” He finished it for her, since they both knew it was what she was trying to say. And Lord, it stung even still. 

“Than the  _ choices _ you make.” Mary tried to soften it, and he wasn’t sure that made things better. 

“What choice did I have? Did I  _ ever  _ have?” He didn’t want to raise his voice at her, but it was hard to help it. It was still so unfair, all these years later. He’d never tried to be anything other than what he was - had never lied to her or shown her something untrue - and she’d turned him away right when they had almost made something of it. Not before when it might have hurt less, but only at the time it could have hurt the most. All because of what her daddy thought of him, if that was even all there was to it.

“Oh, I know.” Mary released his arm and adjusted her skirts, sounding just as tired of this as he felt. “You had to live by your  _ code _ . But your code is... well, it’s not  _ right _ .”

“Has your way been right, Mary?” His words carried the hurt and anger he felt at being asked for  _ this _ , of all things. At being  _ scolded _ by her over this decades old argument. “With you, and Jamie joinin’ a bunch’a crazies, and hypocritical daddy with his drinkin’ and whorin’ and gamblin’, huh? Is that what a pure life has gotten you,  _ beggin’ me for help _ ?” His voice had risen again before he realized it, and he finished just shy of shouting. He instantly felt ashamed and turned away to take a long, deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, playing with the beads around the crown of his hat. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come here, and he definitely should  _ not _ have brought Charles... 

“Oh, Arthur...” And now Mary’s voice shook as if she might cry, and Arthur fiercely hated himself for making her sound that way. “Be kind to me. Please.”

He took a few more breaths, swallowing down any other words he might want to say. “‘M sorry.” He muttered instead, eyes downcast, and started walking back to the horses. 

“I am...” Mary began, and Arthur paused, biting his lip, waiting for her to tug on his heart and his regrets like she always did. “I should have... asked someone else. But...”

“But I’m the best guy you know at frightenin’ decent people.” He went back and sat on the steps of the hotel, and Mary sat with him, looking out into the street. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Arthur. You know that?” She was back to speaking softly, and it hurt to hear her say those words. Had she?

“Sure.” He muttered, but at the same time part of him felt that if she truly  _ had _ loved him, it wouldn’t have mattered what her daddy said. He’d been prepared to leave his entire life behind for her, but she hadn’t held him to the same importance.

“Oh Arthur, we were so very young... think how different life could’ve been.” She sounded wistful, and yet she’d made it clear just now that she still didn’t approve of his life, and he couldn’t imagine there was much he could do to change that. He’d never been good enough for her, and he was hardly a better, more noble person  _ now _ .

“I try not to.” The truth of it was that lately he hadn’t chased that particular daydream. What he imagined now was very different, and didn’t involve any women. Him and Charles, their horses, maybe a dog... nonsense that he kept private and to himself, didn’t even dare write down.

They sat together for a while, watching people pass by. Or, Mary was watching people, Arthur was looking at Charles, who had turned away to give them some semblance of privacy. What sort of life did Charles imagine for himself in the future? Did he see himself breaking off from the gang at some point, or staying with them until they found this ever elusive paradise? For how much longer would he want Arthur? Did he like dogs?

Mary broke the silence. “Will you help me try to save daddy?”

They both knew what he would say before he said it. “Come along then.” He sighed and stood, Charles looking at Arthur over his shoulder and receiving a small nod. “Where we goin’? What’s the ol’ lovable patriarch been up to now?”

“Oh Arthur.” Arthur truly wished Mary would stop saying his name like that. “You know sarcasm is beneath you...” 

He didn’t feel like it was. 

“He’s been gambling and drinking and... other things...” She wrung her hands, and of course Arthur had been right about what that man was getting up to; the same as back then.

“Oh, the filthy rotter.” He drawled, and Mary huffed, smacking him lightly on the arm, but he thought he saw a smile on her face either way. “Where can we find him?”

“He said he was going down to the Theodore Eckhart stables. Something about a horse. It’s down by the water in the warehouse district, near the train yard.”

“C’mon then.” He shook his head and bowed slightly, directing her across the street, and she scoffed. 

“Don’t be a pompous ass, Arthur, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, should I leave that to daddy?” He rolled his eyes. Sarcasm was beneath him and being pompous didn’t suit him, but nothing else he did seemed right in her eyes either. There was no pleasing her.

“Leave daddy alone, he suffers enough.”

“Well I suppose I can take some consolation in that.” Arthur grumbled under his breath, but he knew Mary heard him anyway.

“Oh Arthur, I should have ran away with you years ago.”

It nearly stopped him in his tracks to hear her say that, and instead of perhaps hope or the feeling of that old flame licking at his heart, he was just confused. What was she doing? Why was she getting so irritated and so sentimental like the flip of a coin, and why was she doing this after asking something of him that she knew he would hate? It just didn’t make sense, and if Arthur had been a lesser man he might have simply put it up to women being women. Only, Arthur knew plenty of women who were nowhere near as confusing as Mary.

“But you wouldn’t.” He gruffed, instead of saying any of that.

“No, I didn’t, but... well... I don’t know.” She sighed and shook her head, and Arthur had no idea where she was trying to go with that, what she was trying to say. It didn’t sound like she did either. 

He got up on his horse, the heavy stallion flicking his ears as he helped Mary sit behind him. He knew Beast wasn’t used to carrying strangers, but he’d be able to handle it just fine. 

Charles was riding just slightly behind them, and Arthur really hoped he wasn’t upset with him for raising his voice at a woman. He knew Charles was always so kind and gentle to the girls at camp, and was even kind to strangers more often than not, if they wore a skirt. A gentleman, he supposed.

“Who’s your friend, Arthur? You haven’t introduced us.” Mary asked suddenly, though Arthur didn’t turn to look - the city was so crowded and hectic, he needed to keep his eyes ahead of him. Twice he’d already almost knocked into someone who was crossing the road without looking and they’d barely gone twenty feet.

“Oh, um...” He cleared his throat. “Mary, this is Charles Smith. Charles, this is Mary Linton.” He was rather ashamed that Charles had been there to witness him this way; barking and snarling because of his wounded heart. He didn’t want to  _ be _ that way, either. He was also embarrassed that Mary had no idea he and Charles were a lot more than just  _ friends _ .

“Ah, I see. Pleasure to... meet you.” She didn’t sound so sure, and Arthur was mildly offended on Charles’ behalf, but he supposed he couldn’t exactly blame her; she knew what his life was like, and the types of men that life tended to attract. “And he... runs with you and your... with Dutch?” She probed, and Arthur just sighed. 

“Yeah, ‘course he does. But he ain’t like the rest ‘a them.” He defended.

“Is that so?” She questioned, and Arthur huffed. 

“Yeah, it is.” He may have sounded snarkier than he intended, but he wasn’t going to let Mary speak ill of Charles when he was  _ right there _ . Or any other time, really. “Charles is a good man, an’ I’m lucky to know him.”

“A good man, or a good outlaw?” Mary asked, and he could hear her skepticism. He had to breathe, trying not to get into another argument with her.

“Does it matter? Or you gonna judge him anyway, when you ain’t never met him before?” He turned over his shoulder to quickly frown at her, prickly and defensive. “Charles is a good man. As good as any man can be. Better’n me, so don’t you go scrutinizin’ him like that. He don’t deserve it.” He turned back to the road.

Mary was silent for a moment. “Alright, Arthur.” She relented, shifting behind him, probably looking at Charles. “My apologies, Mr Smith. I hope you don’t think too poorly of me. I know I haven’t given the best impression. I just... well, I’ve met the types of people that Arthur...  _ works _ with, and not all of them have been...” She trailed off, but it was clear what she meant. “Please don’t take offence to what I’ve said, it’s nothing personal.”

“No offence taken, Ms Linton.” Charles’ tone was so hard to read, not cold or angry, but also none of the warmth he used when speaking to Arthur. Distant perhaps was the best way to describe it, aloof.

“It’s Mrs. Well, it was. Still is, I suppose, but he died.”

“Ah.”

It was terribly awkward, and Arthur didn’t want it to continue, but the silence that fell over them next was worse, and had none of the comfort and ease that the silences between Arthur and Charles held. Good Lord he wanted this to be over already.

He chanced a look over at Charles, who was stone-faced, but Arthur had seen him gentle and sweet, had seen him boiling over with rage, had seen him passionate and lusting. He knew Charles more intimately than he’d ever known Mary... and how well had he really known her, even back then? He’d thought she would agree to run away with him, but he’d been wrong about that. He’d thought she would be able to look past the things her daddy wanted for her, but she hadn’t. He’d thought they would be together, start a life, have a family... but none of those things had been true.

But Charles wanted him as he was, and even if Arthur was afraid of being rejected again, this time was just so different from all the other times that he couldn’t help but think it might not happen. Maybe it was because they were both men, or maybe it was because they both lived their lives as outlaws, but he didn’t think Charles would decide he wasn’t good enough, or didn’t meet expectations. 

Those deep brown eyes looked over, caught Arthur staring, and Charles flashed him a subtle smile; just that tiny curve of the mouth meant only for him and Arthur couldn’t help but smile back. It still made him feel like a fool, just a little, that Charles would smile at him.

Arriving at the stables, Arthur helped Mary down from the Shire and started towards the doors. 

“Let me go in,” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “see what kind of a state he’s in.” Mary looked between Charles and Arthur, and he could tell she probably wanted to avoid any humiliation that her father might bring upon himself, if that were even possible.

Arthur just gave a small nod. “Sure.” He didn’t have it in him to argue. “I’ll wait here.” 

She pulled open the door and disappeared inside, leaving Arthur and Charles out there alone.

A beat passed, and then he let out a heavy breath and turned to his companion. “I’m... real sorry you had to... be here for all that. I weren’t sure what she wanted, but I didn’t think...” He sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face.

“She’s asked for your help before?” Charles asked and Arthur nodded, giving a small shrug. 

“Yeah. When we was up by Valentine, at Horseshoe... she sent me a letter askin’ for help with her little brother Jamie. He’s a good kid... got mixed up in some crazy cult; the Chelonians. You heard’a them?”

“Not really.” Charles leaned against the building, and Arthur moved to take the spot right beside him. Their arms brushed together, and that was as close as they could risk getting in such a public place.

“Well... anyway. Saved him from them, an’ then saved him from shootin’ himself like a fool. When she wrote me this time askin’ for help again I thought...” He chewed his lip. “Didn’t know if it was about Jamie or somethin’ else, but it just didn’t feel right ignorin’ her.” He was looking at the ground, watching the flies buzz around in the gutter with all the filth of this place. 

“And now? I take it your relationship with her father is...” Charles trailed off, but there was no delicate or polite way to really phrase it. He hated that man. 

Arthur scoffed slightly. “If that man keeled over in a ditch, I don’t think you’d find me mournin’ him none.” He muttered. “He’s the reason Mary didn’t... why it didn’t work out, all those years ago. One’a them, anyway. An’ she still defends him, when he’s just as bad as I am, or worse! Yeah, guess he don’t kill people for a livin’, but I ain’t in the habit of drinkin’ myself into a stupor and causin’ all sorts’a Hell.” He paused. “Usually.”

Charles only huffed, bumping their shoulders together and causing him to look up and lock eyes with the other man. “It’s probably not my place to say, but since she said it herself, I’ll go ahead and agree. She should have asked someone else.”

Arthur blinked. “What d’you mean?”

The larger man hummed, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “This hurts you, I can see it and I know she can as well. She’s... she’s taking advantage of the past. She called on you because she knew you would answer, no matter the reason why.”

He looked at Charles for a moment, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. He’d said what Arthur had been thinking, been stewing on since he’d read her letter. He didn’t think she’d intended to hurt him, but she had to know that it would. From the things she’d said, it seemed like it hurt her to even ask, which only told how desperate she really was. But if there was no one else to help her he  _ had _ to come, didn’t he?

“I don’t love her no more.” Arthur admitted quietly. “Don’t hate her or nothin’, but... well, s’jus’ real complicated. What we had weren’t enough I guess, lookin’ back. I think we was too young to realize it never could’a worked, that the worlds we came from was jus’ too different. But it felt... still feels important, you know? An’ now...” He let a puff of air out from between his lips and shook his head. “She’s always made a fool outta me, this time’s no different. I dunno what she expects, but I ain’t lookin’ to try an’ rekindle nothin’. It’s in the past... don’t really feel like goin’ back to that, anyway.” He looked at Charles, and the man looked right back. For a moment, it was just the two of them, and he had the insane urge to reach out and touch Charles, grab him and kiss him, play with his hair.

“I have half a mind to kill you myself!”

They jumped apart from each other despite not being all that close, and Arthur saw Mary follow the blasted old man who’d stumbled through the stable door. Dear old Mr Gillis.

“Daddy.” She sounded hurt, and Arthur wasn’t sure what they’d spoken about in the stable that was worth a death threat in Mr Gillis’ eyes, but he was fairly certain he should hold himself back lest he beat the man for it. He didn’t have to love her to want to protect her from things like that.

They argued back and forth, more so the old buffoon shouting at his daughter and looking like a wreck, Mr Gillis sounding drunk and hysterical. He left her standing on the corner with a snarl, and Arthur had to wait to make sure his temper was under control before he walked up to Mary.

“Still as charmin’ as ever, I see.”

“Oh Arthur. He’s up to no good, we better follow him.” Mary didn’t even look at him, anxious and too wrapped up in the mess that was her father to even react to Arthur’s snark. She started to make her way down the road at a hurried pace and Arthur huffed, motioning for Charles to follow him as he went after her.

It was more of a glorified alleyway, really, and Mr Gillis was so drunk he could barely walk straight, so Arthur doubted he’d notice them unless they made some sort of ruckus. But better safe than sorry, so they tailed the old man from afar. When he snuck between some crates and out of sight Arthur picked up speed, jogging to make up the distance so they wouldn’t lose him. There were footprints in the muck that turned the corner into an even smaller alley, and Arthur nearly started down that slimmer path before Charles shot a hand out and grabbed him by the back of his suspenders, pulling him back and pressing him against the wall, out of sight. 

He could hear Mr Gillis shouting at someone, and no doubt he would have seen them if Arthur had just gone in, but what was louder was the sudden rush of blood in his ears. 

Charles was nearly pinning him in place, one hand on the wall by his head and the other still holding his suspenders, and... Lord he was close. His long hair was falling into Arthur’s face and he could smell it - woodsmoke and something like rain. His mouth felt dry, his tongue felt thick, and he wanted to know what it would feel like to have Charles  _ really _ hold him against the wall. Would he kiss him and hold him by the waist, boxing him in like Arthur knew he could? Or maybe he’d turn Arthur around and press his chest to the bricks, undressing him just enough to-

Charles looked down at him and winked - something which made Arthur’s neck feel very warm - and pulled away. “He’s going across the street.” He muttered, letting his eyes trail over Arthur’s face before nodding his head and starting down the alley. 

Arthur tried to remember how breathing worked, adjusting himself and glancing around, freezing as he caught sight of Mary. She was looking right at him with a very peculiar expression, slightly bewildered, and he didn’t know if she understood what she’d just seen but he knew how red his face must be. 

“C’mon.” He turned to follow after Charles, hoping to also hide his face from her. Jesus, he needed to get a handle on himself. If that was how he reacted every time Charles touched him in public he might as well paint a giant sign on his forehead that said  _ Queer _ . Hopefully Mary didn’t think anything of it.

They followed Mr Gillis across that street and down another before stopping around the side of a much nicer brick building, doing their best to listen and peek without being seen. Mr Gillis had stopped here for some reason, and it became apparent why after only a few moments of waiting.

He was selling something. More specifically, he was pawning off Mary’s mother’s brooch; one of the last few items she had of her. Arthur couldn’t blame her when she burst from their hiding spot as soon as the buyer was gone, berating her father and tearfully scolding him. Of course Mr Gillis wasn’t happy to see Arthur, and Arthur didn’t want to stick around and watch this argument play out. 

“I’ll go get the brooch.” He sighed, jaw tight as he tried to follow after the man who’d bought it. Charles came with him, and they left that alley and went onto the main street before Arthur caught sight of him. 

“Hey you, Ashton! Hold it right there!” He shouted, and was it his fault that his voice sounded so aggressive after the day he’d had? But of course the man  _ didn’t _ hold it right there. The fool jumped into a carriage of all things. “Goddamnit!” Both Arthur and Charles had to take off running after it, whistling for their horses. Luckily they weren’t too far from the stables where they’d left them, and the two came trotting down the road. 

“Did you  _ really _ expect that to work?” Charles asked incredulously as they mounted up and started off after the carriage at a rushing gallop. 

“It was worth a try, weren’t it?” Arthur defended, before focusing his attention on the coach, which was  _ really _ moving. “Get back here!”

The damn thing was tearing through the streets, heading out of the city and over a bridge that led into the swamps. It turned at a fork in the road and Arthur cut across the grass, shrinking the distance and standing in his saddle, quickly jumping to the carriage and catching hold of the luggage rails along the top. Ashton shrieked in shock from the inside, but Arthur ignored him for now and climbed along the side until he got to the front, grabbing one driver by the shoulder and simply pulling him off and over the side. All Arthur had to do was take the seat he’d just freed up, and the other driver wisely hopped off all by himself. 

Taking hold of the reins right before the horses careened into the depths of the muck, he pulled them tightly to the left to slow them down. He could see the lather they’d worked up shining on their backs and he felt bad for them, Beast and Taima included. 

Charles managed to catch up, and was taking Taima at a trot beside the carriage as he drove it towards a more secluded location. The man inside was shouting pointlessly, and Arthur honestly had no idea why he hadn’t just jumped from the moving carriage like any reasonable person. Not that it would have done him any good seeing as Arthur wasn’t about to let him get away after this little stunt.

He stopped the carriage in the middle of the swamp, surrounded by bog and trees and out of sight from the road. 

He then pulled Ashton from the coach and proceeded to take out a fair amount of his frustrations on him. He made a good target, slimy city slicker than he was, trying to get Arthur to  _ buy _ the brooch back for an outrageous price. Well, he wasn’t about to do that, and he beat the man until he  _ willingly _ gave it up for free.

But it hadn’t helped him feel better. If anything, he now felt worse. Charles had watched it all silently, not offering any input or redirection, and Arthur had no idea if Charles cared at all for what Arthur had done or if he shared his opinion of Ashton hardly being an innocent person, what with his wealth seeming mostly ill-gotten. And yet he just... felt dirty. He’d beaten a man bloody for the brooch of a woman whom he did not love. What sort of person did this make him? Just the type of brute Mary had refused to wed.

Arthur stood there, rubbing his knuckles and stuffing the brooch in his pocket. Charles was looking at him when he turned away from Ashton’s retreating form, arms crossed. He looked stern, or maybe just contemplative, but Arthur felt his shoulders tense defensively regardless, his emotions roiling.

“What?” He snapped, and Charles raised an eyebrow at him for his tone, which he quickly regretted. He didn’t need to make Charles upset with him. He didn’t need to act like the incredible idiot that he truly must be.

“Sorry... I jus’...” Arthur sighed as he went over to Beast, who did  _ not _ look happy with all this running in the mud chasing after carriages. His sleek black coat was dirty, and Arthur purposefully stalled returning to Mary as he started brushing him out and whispering to him, muttering apologies and soft compliments. It was soothing, grounding, and Arthur needed it before he did anything else he would regret.

“Arthur.” Charles stood beside him, speaking softly, and Arthur drooped with guilt. “What’s going on with you?

He huffed. As if that was such a simple question to answer. Charles already knew this entire task from start to finish had been... unwanted. But he’d put himself up to it, made the choice on his own. What did Charles even want him to say? 

“I dunno.” He mumbled. He didn’t mean to brush Charles off like that, and he felt bad for it, but he wished he’d never brought him, wished he’d never come to the damn city to see Mary. Right now it was all just too much.

The other man was silent for just a moment, and Arthur felt the burn of his gaze, but then he nodded and whistled for Taima, mounting up and waiting for Arthur to finish procrastinating.

Eventually, Beasts coat was gleaming and the horse himself was calmed and affectionate, so Arthur figured he’d wasted as much time as he could. He hopped up into his saddle and turned towards the road at a trot. They didn’t speak on the way back, and the silence was weighed down with the tension that had lingered all day. It had started to get foggy, and the air stank with the scent of those big smokestacks at the edge of the city. 

He hated this place. 

They made their way back to that alley where they’d left Mary and her father. Predictably, Mary was alone now, sitting on the edge of a large planter and looking... miserable.

Arthur hesitated, but slowly walked over to her. “Where’s your father?” He asked, stopping a few paces away, Charles once more giving them some privacy and staying at the entrance to the little back street.

Mary seemed to shake herself from her thoughts, looking up at him and then away. “I don’t know.” Her voice was far too quiet, too sad, and Arthur felt bad for her. Even if his day had been made frustrating and his thoughts had not been kind because of what she’d asked of him, she didn’t deserve her father’s treatment.

“You... want me to go find him again?” He offered, even if he really would rather not. It was just so difficult to know what was the right thing to do where Mary was concerned. But she just shook her head and offered him a wan and insincere smile. 

“Not really.”

“Well...” He sighed and glanced around. “I’ll... take you to the trolley.” He figured that was probably the least he could do.

“Thank you.” She nodded, standing up and glancing over to Charles. Arthur faltered at that, not wanting to just abandon him here. But Charles made the choice for him, though, which he did appreciate. He was having trouble figuring out what he should do, how he should behave. It all seemed wrong or not good enough, and he was trying so hard to hold everything inside until he wasn’t around anyone anymore.

“Don’t worry about me, Arthur. I’ll be by the horses when you’re done.” He gave Mary a polite nod, a lingering look at Arthur, and then walked off to where they’d left their mounts.

Everything was buzzing as he led Mary in the other direction, and it took him a moment before he reached into his satchel and pulled out the brooch, having almost forgotten.

“I, uh... got you this back.” He muttered, and Mary took it with gentle hands, holding it against her chest. 

“I won’t ask.” She said, knowing already that he would have failed to be a reasonable and non-violent man. 

“Best not.” He agreed, and they walked in silence along the foggy streets for a while longer before Mary stopped him. 

“Hey...” She started, and Arthur was unsure what she might say, but hoped it would not be more judgements or requests or confusing contradictions. “Arthur... be honest with me. Is there... someone else now?”

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to look indifferent instead of panicked, a flutter inside his ribs that he distinctly disliked. “Wh-why d’you ask?” He evaded, but Mary only sighed and wrung her hands, glancing around before stepping a little closer, lowering her voice. 

“You’re not a very good liar.” She looked over his face, and he was forced to look away for fear that she’d see the truth there, but it was apparently a little late for that. “I can just... tell. You’ve been, well... You look at him like he hung the moon and you can’t hardly stop from tripping over your own feet.”

“ _ Mary! _ ” He hissed, his face burning and the back of his neck prickling with nervous sweat. She only nodded, holding her hands out in a silent plea to let her speak. 

“Listen, please, Arthur... I just want to... be sure. I don’t want to go about making a fool of myself when there’s no more hope for us. So... is there? Is there hope that we could ever... be something, again?” She was looking up at him, looking so plaintive and yet already so heartbroken. She already knew, but she wanted to hear him say it, and the words were choking in his throat and his palms were sweating and his face felt too hot. Everything about this moment was almost like a dream, from the foggy, almost empty streets to the way she was standing here before him asking if they could ever be together again. 

“M-Mary...” He coughed slightly and couldn’t look at her as he spoke. “I think things jus’ might be... too different now. I... I ain’t sure if we’ve changed or if everythin’ else has, but... it didn’t work the first time cus of things that ain’t any different now... an’... I... Ch-Charles is...”

“Thank you.” Mary let out a heavy breath, shoulder slumping and eyes watering. “I can find my own way to the trolley station. Thank you Arthur, for coming and... getting my mother’s brooch back to me. And thank you for... well. I won’t be bothering you again, I understand it was wrong of me. I was thinking and I... need to learn how to take care of myself. Goodbye, Arthur. Be safe.”

She didn’t even wait for him to reply, just turned away and hurried down the street, head bowed, and Arthur absently wondered if she was crying.

But... she’d  _ noticed _ . She’d been able to tell, within perhaps an hour grand total of spending time around the two of them, that they were queers. Fuck. He... he wasn’t sure what to do with that, or with any of this, really.

He wandered back to the horses in a daze, arriving there before he realized it and just standing there for a moment, before mounting up and heading off, knowing Charles was behind him but unsure if he’d said anything. His head was buzzing, and he felt... well, he had no idea. Absolutely none. The day had taken so many twists and turns that he felt dizzy with it.

They left Saint Denis, and were crossing back southwards on the road to return to Shady Belle when Charles trotted Taima out in front of him and forced him to stop. 

“Arthur, what happened? What has gotten into you?” He asked, brows furrowed and lips tight. He was upset, maybe, and perhaps he should be. Lord knew he had plenty of reasons to be angry with Arthur today, but Mary’s words suddenly floated into the haze of his head, and he spoke without thinking. He’d denied any chance of being with her ever again for the man right in front of him.

“I love you.”

They both just stayed there, silent, frozen, both of them shocked at what Arthur had said out of nowhere in the middle of the road. 

It caught up with him a moment later, and his cheeks burned, eyes widening, mouth sputtering and stuttering before he just covered his face with his hands and leaned his forehead down on Beast’s neck. 

“Oh  _ Christ _ .” He prepared himself for the worst; Charles staying silent, perhaps riding off. Maybe he would tell Arthur that it wasn’t mutual, that he didn’t feel the same, and that Arthur had made some sort of mistake about what this was. Maybe he’d even laugh, and wouldn’t that just be perfect? With his history, it would make the most sense. Proposing to one woman only to get turned down. Offering marriage to another, who he’d made a child with, and again getting denied. And now, professing his love to a man and getting laughed at. It really would follow the trend.

“Arthur.” Charles’ voice no longer held irritation, and instead seemed... exasperated. Slowly, he picked his head up from his horse’s mane, looking at Charles and seeing how his expression had softened. “Come on, I think... let’s go somewhere private.”

Arthur just stared as Charles turned Taima around and went back the way they’d come. He supposed he didn’t really have a choice, and whatever Charles wanted to say to him, well, at least it hadn’t been an outright rejection or mockery.

They went back up the road and took the path leading northwest. Charles led him further than he’d thought he would, out of Bayou Nwa, finally stopping at a secluded spot by Ringneck Creek. He dismounted from Taima and led her to the stream, taking a seat at the bank and looking expectantly at Arthur, who slowly did the same. 

They sat together in silence for a long while, Arthur preparing himself for what he’d feared. Probably should have known that after a day like today Charles would no longer want anything to do with him. Why had he said  _ that _ , of all things? And why  _ then _ ? He was sure he had the worst timing in history, the most foolish heart. Maybe he was destined to ruin all the things he held dear.

And then Charles slowly reached out and took Arthur’s hand, holding it lightly, looking at him and giving him a soft smile. 

“You’re very complicated, you know that?”

Arthur stared at him, and then looked down at their linked hands. This was not what he’d expected. Was this... not a rejection after all? It didn’t seem like one.

“I dunno ‘bout that.” Arthur mumbled, and Charles hummed in reply.

“Do you want to talk to me about what went on today?” Charles probed after another length of silence, hand still holding Arthur’s, and even if his tone was light Arthur knew that Charles was probably still annoyed with him, at the very least. He wasn’t sure which exact thing, or maybe it was just everything. It had all certainly upset Arthur.

“You was right.” He muttered eventually. “Felt like... she only asked for my help, only asked t’see me, ‘cus she knew I wouldn’t say no. I dunno what I would’a wanted from her, only that it weren’t that.” He chewed his lip, recalling Mary’s parting words again, and while a part of him ached at them, it was less bitter than he would have thought.

“The whole thing jus’ got me so...  _ frustrated _ . I go to her thinkin’ she’s in some real trouble maybe, an’ it turns out it’s for her  _ father _ . We planned to run away together, back then. He’s the one who convinced her not to. I got down to the train station where she was waitin’ for me, an’ she said no. She’d changed her mind. Already gave her a ring an’ everythin’, and she said no. An’ it hurt... a lot. Then she sends me a letter up at Horseshoe, an’ then again here, an’... she was sayin’ things I didn’t really understand the whole day. Gettin’ mad at me for things an’ then saying how she missed me all in the same breath. An’ then when I was takin’ her to the trolley... she asked if we could... ever get back together...” He swallowed down his nerves, took a deep breath. He could feel the way Charles’ shoulders tensed and his hand tightened in Arthur’s grip.

“I jus’ don’t understand her, not sure I ever did, really. ‘Course... I told her no. An’ she... had us all figured out, dunno how. But it’s all jus’... what was I supposed to say to her?” He felt his anxiety spike, and he couldn’t look at Charles at first, not until the man squeezed his hand. He was struck with the thought that Charles hadn’t ever treated him like Mary had. Hadn’t made him feel as if he wasn’t good enough, had made him feel somehow better and made him want to  _ be _ better, at times. Charles was perhaps the first person to really make him think about what he did and why, and not just cast him aside when he acted poorly.

“I said... I don’t love her no more... ‘cus I love you.” Arthur mumbled. He hadn’t said it in those exact words, but they’d both known it was what he’d meant.

Charles watched him speak, gave his hand another squeeze, and then the oddest thing happened. He... blushed. His face got red, the color dark in his cheeks, and he turned away almost bashfully. 

“I... Oh, Arthur, that’s...” He seemed to struggle with his words, and Arthur’s palms began to sweat. 

“Y-you don’t gotta... if you don’t feel the same you ain’t gotta pretend or nothin’, I know I ain’t the best catch, an’ maybe it ain’t supposed to be like this between two men, maybe it ain’t supposed to feel like this at all. I don’t know what I’m doin’, I jus’ know that when we’re together... when I get to spend time with you... I’m happier. A lot happier, an’ things don’t seem so bad. B-but I ain’t makin’ you say nothin’ you don’t wanna say, so-”

Charles turned back to him, leaned forward, and bridged the gap to silence him with a kiss. Slow and smooth and still sending little sparks into his belly despite it all. And when he finally pulled away, Charles was still flushed, but he was smiling, eyes sparkling, and it took Arthur’s breath away. 

“Hush, you silly old fool.” He breathed a laugh against Arthur’s lips.

Butterflies were making their home in Arthur’s stomach, and he shifted in the grass to better face the other, his own cheeks getting warm. Charles reached up, taking Arthur’s hat from his head and running his fingers through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear like he’d done outside that hotel in the city, but this was so much more intimate. Just the two of them out here, with the sun shining and hot, but welcomingly clear after the haze and fog of the swamp. 

“I know that this is... new to you. I didn’t want to scare you, and I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.” He gave a small sigh. “It hasn’t been that long with us, and to have an old flame call on you... I know you said you don’t have feelings for her anymore, but there was a part of me that was worried... if you saw her again, that you might... change your mind. With how oddly you were behaving, I was worried... that whatever this was between us would be over.” He scoffed slightly. “I suppose that was misguided.” Charles paused, choosing his words carefully, even if Arthur was already stunned with what he’d said. He carefully brushed Arthur’s hair behind his ear again. “...I’ve... been thinking for a while that I loved you.” Such a soft thing, showing his own insecurities.

It seemed as if they both had been fools. 

“Me too.” Arthur answered, words a bit rushed together. “Was worried you weren’t... gonna like me for long, you might grow tired, maybe realize I ain’t that nice to look at. Thought that after today you’d see me as somethin’ rotten. But I... Since... since that night when we... made love, that first time. I was thinkin’ it before then, but after that... I knew. I love you, Charles.”

Lips against his again, traveling down to his jaw, and then his neck, hands placed on his hips and gently pushing him back into the soft grass. Belts unbuckled and tossed to the side, and Arthur was suddenly so very thankful he’d taken to abstaining from wearing any undergarments lately. Charles tugged Arthur’s pants down and slipped his hand inside, tracing his fingers along Arthur’s cock, and he covered his mouth to keep his noises muffled. 

“I love you.” Charles whispered against his skin, biting soft marks below the collar of his shirt before he pulled the buttons open and palmed his chest. Rubbing his thumb in little circles around his nipples, getting them to stand and creating another trail of kisses down until he could bring them into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue over the hard little nubs as his hand worked to stroke Arthur fully hard. 

Arthur had one hand fisted in the grass, the other clamped over his mouth, hips rocking up into that rough fist. 

They shouldn’t be doing this here, so out in the open. While they weren’t next to any roads, this was not as covered as it could be. A few trees and tall bushes, and that was it. Arthur was also pretty sure there was some sort of building, a house or farm, not too far from here, and if-

Charles twisted his wrist as he stroked downwards, biting gently on Arthur’s left nipple, and Arthur gasped, bucking his hips and spreading his legs, already leaking from the tip and finding it hard to continue with his train of thought. 

“ _ Charles, _ ” He whined, voice strained and muffled from behind his hand, and the man lifted his head, lips wet and eyes shining.

“I love you, Arthur.” He breathed, and Arthur nodded, lifting his legs up and hooking them clumsily around Charles’ waist, grinding upwards against the tent in Charles’ pants and causing the younger man to gasp. He reached out with that strong grip, pulling Arthur’s hand away from his mouth and crushing their lips together. He reached down with his other hand and pulled himself from his pants, giving a few strokes before he grasped both of their cocks within his fist and began to thrust into it, sliding against the underside of Arthur’s shaft and making him squirm and moan into the kiss. 

A rush of rubbing and rutting, thrusting and slick slides, Arthur breathless in this kiss with one hand pinned down to the grass. 

“I love you. So beautiful.” Charles panted, hot and rough, breaking the kiss only momentarily and nipping Arthur’s bottom lip. The outlaw cried out, his mouth was taken again, and the rest of his moans and gasps and whimpers went from his lungs into the others’, and he felt the rumbling purr of Charles’ groans and sighs and growls come into him. 

A large thumb pressing against the tip of his cock, rubbing against the slit right there, and his back arched up off the grass and Charles swallowed Arthur’s cry of pleasure as he climaxed, spilling over the man’s fist and his own belly. It wasn’t much longer until Charles followed, biting Arthur’s lip and groaning deep in his chest as he added to the mess on the outlaw’s torso. It felt so hot against his skin, right on his stomach, dripping over the side of his flesh and into the grass.

Panting, sweating, and flushed, Charles pulled back, resting his forehead against Arthur’s and looking into his eyes. Rippling water and sturdy oak. 

“I love you.” He said once more, and Arthur felt like his heart was floating. 

“I love you too.” He whispered back, breathless and giddy, and leaned up for another kiss, only able to keep it for a moment before he had to drop back against the soft earth, shivering slightly as the sweat cooled on his skin. “More’n anythin’... ‘m the luckiest man alive to have you. Love you.”

Charles smiled, and Lord it was gorgeous, bright like the sun and so much warmer. “Stay with me. I mean... together. Be with me.”

Arthur felt as if it was the easiest thing he’d ever had to say. “Yes. Yeah. I want... I want that. I wanna be with you.”

And maybe this was something they should have discussed before all of this, maybe it was a little late, but Arthur wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work and if his past experiences were any indication following the rules and the  _ should have’s _ didn’t always work out like it was supposed to anyway. 

Charles laughed softly, not a sound of mockery or teasing, but a sound of joy, and Arthur felt himself smiling with it.

\---

_ It’s been a wild few days. Don’t rightly know where I should begin, but I suppose at the start of this mess makes the most sense.  _

_ John left. Took Abigail and Jack with him and got out of here, left us all behind. Me, Dutch, everyone. Part of me thinks I oughta be pissed about that, but the rest of me is too worried and happy and jealous to have much room for anger. Maybe the first time that’s happened, I don’t know.  _

_ Being jealous isn’t right, I know that, but I can’t help it, and I never claimed to be a man who does things  _ _ right _ _. It don’t matter how I feel, truthfully, as none of that will make John come back, and I’m fairly certain I don’t even want him to. If he can get out of all of this, and keep Jack safe, then maybe that’s better than him being here.  _

_ It’s made Dutch paranoid, and no one is allowed to leave camp alone right now. Hosea told me not to take it personal, and I guess I don’t, but it’s frustrating to feel like he doesn’t trust me, after everything I’ve given him. There isn’t much that I  _ _ haven’t _ _ given him at this point. _

_ On top of all that, Mary sent me another letter, asking for my help again. And like a fool, I went. And like a bigger fool, I brought Charles. Somehow - probably because of me being a fool - I managed to make Charles upset with me during that whole mess. Did some things I ain’t so proud of, said some things that make me feel much the same. Worst of all, maybe, was that Mary  knew about me and Charles. I didn’t think we were being obvious, or that we’d said anything odd, but somehow she sniffed us out as inverts. But she told me she still had feelings for me, asked if we could ever make a go of it again. Maybe that would have been smarter or safer, but I turned her down. I’d say I don’t understand women, but I’m pretty sure it’s just her. She told me goodbye, and I think she meant it. I didn’t get a chance to say it then, but... goodbye, Mary. Despite it all, I’ll miss you. _

_ And then I told Charles I loved him. Probably did it wrong, but I don’t know if there’s a right way with things like this. Whatever happens... I do, I love him and I can’t stop myself from smiling when I think about him right now. We did something new together, and during it all he kept telling me that he loved me, and it made me feel like I was flying. He asked to be with me, more permanent like, and I couldn’t have said no even if I’d wanted to. I don’t think it’s like asking to go steady, I don’t know if two men can do that, but it’s probably as close as we’ll get. Whatever it means,  _ _ he wants to be with me _ _. I’m scared - no one’s ever wanted me permanent before, and I don’t know if there’s such a thing as fate but maybe nothing else worked out because I was meant to wait for him? Maybe that’s just overly romantic drivel, though. I should stop borrowing Mary-Beth’s novels. _

_ I love him. A+C _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They got the gay. 
> 
> SO now, even if it's just to each other, Arthur and Charles are Facebook Official <3 Also, someone pointed out in another fic that a lot of people write Charles as the Perfect Man, and I didn't want this fic to come off as "Charles is perfect in every way and never does/thinks/feels the wrong thing" because he's a person and while he may be... hmmm... better adjusted at dealing with his feelings than Arthur is, nobody is perfect. 
> 
> Also, what is he supposed to think when his relatively new boyfriend is taking him to visit his old ex-fiance? Especially if said new boyfriend is pretty new to the whole "gay" thing. I think it's reasonable to have a minor freak out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF this chapter wasn't hard to write, but was somehow very hard to edit XD I needed a lot of help, so big BIG thank you to my friends, you guys know who you are! After the mammoth of last weeks chapter I fell a bit behind and didn't have this one pre-written like I normally like to have, so I had to write and edit it all within a week, and it took a lot out of me lol I did manage to start getting ahead again, so that's something, right?

After that fiasco with Mary had somehow ended both better and worse than Arthur could have imagined, he found it very hard to settle his thoughts. He couldn’t stop looking at Charles every single opportunity he got - across camp, when the man was doing chores, taking care of the horses... every time he caught Charles’ eye he felt his heart flip and his cheeks get warm. They were  _ together _ now, and just the thought made his chest flutter like some silly schoolgirl. But he still had to be careful. Mary had noticed very easily, and he didn’t want anyone in camp to know - mainly because it wasn’t any of their damn business.

He didn’t spend all his days just ogling Charles, though - there was still a lot of work to be done, and the mayor’s party at the end of the month was creeping steadily closer. Dutch had arranged for himself, Arthur, Hosea and Bill to go, with Lenny acting as their driver, and such a fancy upper class party meant Arthur needed fancy upper class clothes. He really wasn’t sure what to buy or what might work for something like that, but going to the tailors also gave him the excuse to replace his shirts with ones that were a bit better fitting. Apparently his chest had grown by a few inches, judging by the tailor’s tape, though why that had happened he couldn’t say. He’d been rowing boats more, lately... that was probably it, since nothing else had really changed. Either way, at least he wouldn’t be popping so many damn buttons - save the girls the work of needing to sew them back on all the time, and save him just a little bit of ribbing about it as well.

He ended up going with a simple and, according to the tailor, popular style of suit in a clean black, and he packed it carefully away so it wouldn’t get dirty before the day of the party. In the meantime, he did his best to continue making money, and about a week and a half after John’s departure and no sign of the Pinkertons or anyone else coming to haul them all off to the gallows, Dutch finally loosened his rule about pairs, making it easier for Arthur to pick his habit of wandering right back up where he left it.

He met Albert Mason again, the fool trying to get eaten by gators this time, and managed to help prevent that while also getting the man some good shots. Arthur didn’t understand  _ why _ the gators needed saving, considering they’d happily and easily eat any man that got too close, but apparently people had killed a lot of them in the past few years and that was a bad thing.

Arthur also met a stranger in the city, in some run down little tavern that smelled like rat shit. Some Frenchman named Charles Châtenay who was incredibly vulgar and rather funny. He was some sort of artist, and gave Arthur one of his sketches of a nude woman, which he felt embarrassed even looking at in public. Still, he made for some interesting conversation and Arthur had gotten a few laughs out of it.

Strauss had some debts for him to collect, as usual, and he picked up a few coach robbery jobs from Alden - which was unnerving in and of itself, just walking back into Rhodes like that, but somehow no one recognized him; probably because anyone who could was dead. Either way, by the time the end of the month came around Arthur had managed to make a little over two hundred dollars, keeping only a little for himself. It wasn’t great, and he felt guilty over not bringing in more, but it was the best he could do.

His moods had been difficult to understand lately, though, and Hosea had said he was acting  _ mercurial _ \- whatever that meant. Arthur assumed it was some fancy way of saying ‘like an asshole’. He never meant to, but as the month dragged on his fuse felt a little shorter, and he would go from being pleasant and calm to cranky and snappish without much provocation. He’d lost his temper at Swanson one evening when the man had come up to him, babbling nervously about the Pinkertons. It felt like it came out of nowhere, this sudden surge of anger, and he’d shoved the man and snarled in his face before stalking out of camp altogether for a good few hours until he’d calmed down. 

When he had, he’d immediately gone up to the Reverend and apologized to him, feeling horrible over the way he’d behaved and offering him a pocket watch he’d stolen to make up for it. Swanson seemed to be understanding enough and told him that it was alright, that he sometimes forgot the stress Arthur must be under to keep them all safe. Arthur wasn’t too sure that was why he’d lost his temper, but it was as good a reason as any and so he had simply agreed.

He’d then spent the next few days being very careful around everyone, unsure what he was feeling at any given moment and if it would last for longer than an hour. He’d nearly  _ cried _ over Jack being gone  _ twice _ , missing the sweet boy so much in those moments, and he’d had to once again run off until he could bring himself under control.

And even with all of that, and even if he was having uncomfortable dreams and Charles hadn’t managed to sneak into his room more than a few times, Arthur reasoned that things could be worse. They could all be dead, for one, and while they might not have enough money, they certainly had more than none. Now, if only Micah could get bit by a snake things would improve drastically. The man was sour about not being invited to the party, but Dutch hadn’t changed his mind and Arthur was glad for it. 

When night started to fall on the last day of the month, Hosea had taken a look at Arthur and raised an eyebrow, reminding him rather bluntly that Miss Grimshaw was not above forcing him to sit and washing his hair herself. He’d gotten the hint, and had gone out to take a bath, put pomade in his hair, and do his best to stay clean until they were ready. It was a whole lot of sitting around camp to make sure he didn’t mess anything up, and Charles wasn’t even around to spend his time with.

When they were nearly ready to go he got dressed in his new suit and tried not to show how uncomfortable he felt in it... but at least he was fairly sure he looked better than Bill did. The fool hadn’t even gotten a suit that fit properly, and he’d no doubt stick out like a sore thumb in that sea of primped and polished big shots. But perhaps that was for the best, as it would allow Arthur to blend in all the better.

The carriage ride there was... buoyant. Dutch and Hosea joked around and teased each other like the old days, and they all shared a bottle of some sort of fancy champagne as Dutch told them the rules he expected them to follow during their excursion to the ball. No pickpocketing for one, which was a real shame as Arthur figured there would be some mighty fine pocket watches he could nab. But he was right, they were here to see what connections they could make  _ other _ than Bronte, who Dutch rightfully called the biggest crook in town. It would take one to know one.

Giving up his guns at the door made him feel a little anxious, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on his lack of self-protection as they were quickly shepherded into the lavish house, up a set of carpeted stairs and outside to a balcony where Bronte was waiting for them with his bevy of muscled guns. Hosea and Bill had split off into the party already, and so it was Arthur and Dutch who went to meet Bronte and give their...  _ thanks _ for the invitation.

The man was an absolute  _ eel  _ \- slimy and revolting, he was laughing and mocking not only at them but the mayor himself, as well as some sort of sugar plantation owner from the islands that Arthur didn’t care to catch the name of. All he saw when he looked down was a sea of money and wealth, a sea of privilege, targets that were out of reach if only for the moment. 

What really made him heated was hearing Bronte call two particular men  _ redskins _ and mock them for the tragedies of their people, being in Bronte’s words; ‘Stupid enough to get tricked by the Americans’. It made him really wish he could punch the bastard and prove just how angry these ‘cowboys’ could be. Bronte then of course went on to insinuate he wanted some newspaper man assassinated, and when Dutch tried his best to extract them from this conversation Bronte just  _ had _ to put in a little jab about them being cow fuckers. They almost got away, too, before Bronte suddenly seemed to become a little more serious. 

“Before you go... what, ah... exactly are your plans here?” He asked, leaning against the railing of the balcony and puffing on his cigar. Arthur wished he would fall. 

Dutch slowly turned back and glanced at Arthur, before he gave a small shrug. “We’ve not made any...” He started, but then paused a bit, and Arthur recognized the look that entered his eyes. “Well... we  _ are _ going to need some money.”

“Money... yes, of course.” Bronte nodded, looking at the two of them sharply, like prey. “Well there’s... there’s money at the trolley station. They keep a lot of cash there in the day.” He gestured with his cigar as he spoke, puffed up city slicker that he was. “Now, I could not involve myself in such matters, but you?” He scoffed. “As a guest, yes. As  _ my _ guest, bah, do it, hm?” He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes and his smile looked more like he’d smelled something rotten. “Okay, good day gentlemen.”

And that was that. They’d so clearly been told to rob the trolley station, but Arthur wouldn’t have taken that job from Bronte if he’d handed them the keys to the lockbox himself. Still, there was more than one reason they’d come here, and as they met back up with Bill and Hosea on the lower balcony Dutch gave them each instructions... along with another reminder not to steal anything. Arthur figured that was mainly for Hosea, honestly; the man was such a good pickpocket he could probably do it by accident. 

So Arthur did his best to mingle and listen, like he’d been told. Even if he had absolutely  _ no _ idea how to behave at a party like this, he did his best to act like the men in Mary-Beth’s novels. He poured some ladies some champagne, complimented another lady’s rather  _ extravagant  _ hat, which he did actually like, stopped some skinny feller from choking to death on a peanut and got a business card out of that particular act, and then another man gave him a set of tickets to some cabaret show, which he wasn’t quite sure he’d go to but he accepted all the same.

He did this meandering pathway on purpose, but his true target was the mayor. He didn’t want to make a beeline for the man and seem too obvious or too desperate, but if he could maybe eavesdrop a little and get something from the man himself, it would be much better than any dubious rumors spread around by some drunk heiress.

By the time he got there, some fool was speaking to the mayor in a slurring tone, and Arthur stayed at the edges of the circle and listened.

“It ain’t complex Lemieux, and only an idiot like you,  _ buddy _ , would try and make it so.” 

Arthur had no idea what they were talking about, but he did notice that within the circle the other men seemed to be hiding their irritation and discomfort rather poorly.

“I will not deny idiocy, sir, but perhaps now is not the time.” The mayor replied in a thick French accent, seeming rather exasperated with the conversation. Arthur, personally, would have punched someone for talking to him like that, but he wasn’t some high society man who was apparently expected to take insults like baths; all the time and with hardly any protest.

The drunk just guffawed in Lemieux’s face. “Typical pansy!” 

And that seemed to be the end of Lemieux’s patience. “You’re drunk, Ferdinand.” He admonished, but the drunken man - Ferdinand apparently - just kept laughing. 

“I’m not drunk, you fool...” And he waved his hand in the air, before placing it on the shoulder of the person standing next to him. “But this man... this man  _ loves darkies _ .”

That was enough for Arthur as well. He came forward and placed his arm around Ferdinand’s shoulders, holding him tightly and digging his fingers in a little. “Hey, hehe, you are pretty drunk.” He drawled, and grabbed hold of Ferdinand’s wrist with his other hand, keeping him effectively locked in the hold as he started to steer him away. “What’s say you an’ me cool off?”

What he would have liked to do was knock this fool’s lights out, but this was a  _ fancy  _ event, so he just walked him to the edge of the party and gave him a rough shove and a warning for good measure, before making his way back to the mayor.

The mayor immediately shook his hand when he returned, all smiles. “Thank you, sir.” He beamed. 

“My pleasure.” Arthur wasn’t sure if it was, but it had certainly been better than letting that man continue to speak and foul up the air. 

“Henri Lemieux.” The mayor introduced himself. “I hope you’re enjoying my party.”

“The mayor?” Arthur pretended not to already know, putting on his best impression of pleasant surprise. He was pretty sure he got it.

“Allegedly.” Lemieux laughed shortly, and Arthur nodded along, unsure if he was also meant to laugh.

“This’s quite the place you got here.” He attempted flattery, and Lemieux responded with another chuckle and a smile. 

“It’s not mine, and the city is horribly in debt, but we can still put on a good show.” He said it like it was meant to be a joke, even if to Arthur it sounded more like some kind of tragedy. “Do you know Evelyn Miller?” he asked then, indicating the man to his right whom Ferdinand had insulted. 

“My Lord... the writer?” Arthur blinked, now at least genuinely surprised. To think that Dutch’s favorite topic of rhetoric was right here at this party... he’d better not let them meet or they’d  _ never _ manage to leave. He looked like any average city man, though, and while Arthur had not always paid the best attention to Dutch’s lessons on Miller, he’d assumed the man would be... perhaps a bit more... hardy?

But Miller only hummed, seeming bashful. “Well, we seem to have another deranged drunkard on our hands.” He muttered, but whatever else he might say was cut off by a bang. Arthur couldn’t stop himself from jumping and reaching for his gun, which of course he didn’t have, fingers meeting empty air at his hip. But no one else seemed concerned, they all quickly became entranced by a shower of lights and sparks in the night sky. 

“Oh, shall we?” Lemieux led the small group over to a more open area, and they all looked up to watch the fireworks, the crowd coalescing around them and giving appreciative ooh’s and aah’s. Arthur hadn’t ever seen proper fireworks before, and they initially reminded him very much of exploding ammunition. He supposed that’s pretty much exactly what they were. It was pretty, sure, but... loud, and as he stood there watching a prickle of tension began to cover the back of his neck. It was  _ very  _ loud, and very bright, and staring up into the darkened sky like this to see flashes of light and color somehow made it hard to breathe. 

There were so many people standing all around him, everyone was so close together, and he suddenly felt sweltering. He couldn’t catch his breath, like he’d run a mile without stop, and the sky was starting to look so green. It was making him sick, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something might see, something out there, way up there, might take notice and  _ see _ .

There was a small breeze, like a whisper, against the back of his neck, someone’s hand brushing against his elbow, and Arthur reacted before he could think; turning around and grasping the offender around the throat. 

“Don’t!” He growled, speaking through gritted teeth, jaw aching.

But it was just a man. A party-goer, dressed in an expensive suit and looking terrified of Arthur with his trembling hands held up in front of his face. “Oh, goodness sir! Please, I-I meant no offense! My m-most sincere apologies!”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, bewildered and confused. He didn’t know what he’d expected to see but it hadn’t been some fancy pants city boy. But who else would be here? Another bang set him jumping again, a shower of green sparks reflected in the fountain in front of him. He let go of the man and rushed past him before he could say anything else, heart racing high up in his throat.

There was so much noise and light, so many people, and all the pops of color created too many shadows that were too tall and too long, shivering in place as if they might be alive. He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight and his lungs feeling constricted, his vision spotting, and he had no idea what to do. Where was he supposed to go? He couldn’t stay out here, he  _ couldn’t _ , and with each new crack and burst of light, his legs felt like they were turning to lead and he had the terrible fear that he wouldn’t be able to move if he didn’t get out of here, that he’d be stuck in place.  _ But where was he supposed to go? _

“Sir?” Someone was calling to him, sounding like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel; far away and echoing in his head. He turned on his heel, the garden whirling, and his balance tilted too far. Tumbling into the bushes, he struck the corner of his head against one of the gaudy flower pots littered around and fell back into the soft damp dirt.

“Woah! Are you alright?” Another voice, different, and suddenly two pairs of hands were on him, trying to turn him over - onto his back

“No! Get off!” Arthur thrashed, the world twisted again, harder, too hard. He gagged once, and then lurched to the side and vomited. The noise covered by the bangs and cheers, and he felt something dripping down the side of his face.

“Calm yourself, we aren’t trying to hurt you.” The first voice again, calmer and closer, and the hands returned, steady and firm as they pulled him up into sitting. 

Slowly, Arthur tilted his head back and looked up, shaking and drenched in sweat. It was... the two Natives who had handed Mr Lemieux that letter. Both of them were looking at him in blatant worry, and from this close he could see that one was significantly older than the other, bearing a resemblance to each other like family would. 

“I-I’m...” He tried to get a handle on his thoughts, tell them he was fine, but another burst of  _ greengreengreen _ in his eyes had him choking and jerking. The two looked at each other, the younger one stepping forward to get a firm hand under Arthur’s arm and haul him up to his feet, unsteady as he was. 

“Come, let us take you inside. I’m sure the mayor will not mind.” The older soothed, voice rough with age but kind. They helped Arthur up the back steps and into the house, entering a secluded little drawing room and gently setting him down on a fancy velvet couch. The ground still spun and he leaned over, putting his head between his knees and trying to catch his breath, feeling sharp prickles all over his body like a limb that had fallen asleep.

One of them sat beside him and almost hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Can you hear me, sir? Are you alright?” That aged voice asked, and Arthur took a long moment before he nodded once, neck tight. He had his eyes shut and his hands over his ears, pressed between his knees, and he heard something dripping into the carpet, slow but loud in his ears. A  _ drip drip _ , almost calming in the way it repeated so steadily.

“Can you sit up?”

He tried his best. All the noises from outside were muted in here, the colors blocked by the heavy curtains over the windows, and slowly Arthur managed to uncurl himself and straighten his back. The room no longer twisted and lurched, and his vision was a bit steadier, his breathing easier, and he cleared his throat as he turned to look at the two a little better. 

“Uh...” Even if the rest of him was slowly returning to being a body, instead of whatever it had been a moment ago, his brain was slow to catch up. He clenched his hands for a moment before he coughed and tried again. “Th-thank you. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’re bleeding.” The older man indicated his temple, and Arthur reached up and touched the wetness on the side of his face, fingers coming away red. 

“Oh.” He breathed, staring at the blood and feeling like he had no idea what to do about it. His thoughts weren’t going right, and he felt maybe like he was dreaming. There was a beat of silence, and then the older man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, reaching forward to gently press it against the side of Arthur’s head. 

He was heavy and exhausted, and he didn’t fully understand. For some reason all his mind could come up with was the fact that he was safe, but... safe from what? Safe from  _ fireworks _ ?

“Did something happen?” The man asked, and the younger scoffed from his position by the door.

“He’s probably drunk, father, just leave him be.” He sounded disdainful and irritated now, and Arthur felt guilty for bothering these two, who surely had more important things to be doing than looking after him. 

“I, uh...” His voice was a little rough and his throat felt dry, and he pulled away from the older man to dab his sleeve at the blood on his face. “I ain’t.” He looked between them before turning his eyes to the floor. “Drunk, I mean. Don’t drink. Sorry, don’t know... what happened. Jus’... slipped, I guess. Thanks, uh, for helpin’, but you ain’t gotta stick around.”

These were strangers, and they’d seen him act like  _ that _ , behave like some pathetic fool in public. He probably seemed ridiculous, his shirt dampened by sweat and his coat muddied, blood all over him. God, what was wrong with him? As his nerves started to settle, humiliation came to replace it, churning in his gut and blooming hot over his face. 

A second passed, and he realized it wasn’t just embarrassment tying his stomach in knots. 

He stood suddenly, getting a sound of protest from the old man as stumbled his way over to a potted plant in the corner and heaved into it. Nothing much came up except bile, but the gagging didn’t stop for what felt like ages. By the time it ended he had tears clinging to his lashes and his face was red, his nose running, hands shaking, breathing rough and rasping.

“Do you have someone here with you, sir?” The older man asked, now standing a few paces back. “Someone we could fetch for you?” His concern was so open but it just made Arthur feel worse. He didn’t need to be taking their attention, he was fine, just... stupid. 

He shook his head and waved them off, supporting himself against the wall and feeling a little too ashamed to look either of them in the eye.

“N-nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Thank you, gentlemen, but... I’ll be fine. Jus’ gonna stay here...” He took a deep breath, trying to calm whatever had upset his stomach so terribly.

The older man hesitated to leave, but his son was quick to take Arthur’s suggestion. “Come on father, let’s go.” He came forward and impatiently ushered his father out of the room, leaving Arthur alone and letting the shame of his behavior come fully rushing over him.

Idiot. Idiot. He was such an idiot. What was wrong with him? Was he really just that much of a country bumpkin that a flashy little show made him fear for his life? Because it had certainly felt like that. That feeling had reminded him of all the times he’d been in gunfights that had gone on too long, the ones that had nearly killed him, or nearly getting lynched in that cornfield, or being taken and tortured by the O’Driscoll’s. Only he hadn’t felt nearly as helpless as he did now. He was pathetic, and if he was going to start jumping at every little bang or flash he might as well hang up his hat now and prevent himself any further humiliation.

As if he could.

He stayed against that wall for a while longer and just breathed, rubbing a hand over his face and hoping he didn’t look too much of a mess. Despite this mess, he’d been given instructions, and none of those included hiding away in a room all by himself. So he righted his clothing as best as he could and started towards the door. And then paused.

Through the cracked doorway Henri Lemieux’s voice could be heard, arguing back and forth with a man Arthur assumed to be a servant. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, on account of it being in French, but he heard the name Cornwall for sure. Unmistakably, they must be talking about his old friend Leviticus, and wherever that man was concerned there was sure to be money. He didn’t think it was a good idea to rob him again, but Dutch had told him to look for connections and information, and this was surely it. Some sort of link between the mayor of Saint Denis and a bigwig like Cornwall was sure to be worthwhile. 

He waited, and caught Lemieux handing something to his servant - which was tucked carefully away in a pocket - before they separated. Lemieux went into some sort of parlor to answer a ringing phone and the servant headed up the stairs. 

He probably wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop very easily on Lemieux, so after taking a breath and looking around, he crept out of the doorway and up the stairs. He caught sight of the servant around the corner, in some sort of a private office, and watched as he tucked that slip of paper away in a drawer before leaving through an adjoining room. 

Arthur waited in the hallway for a moment to see if he’d return, but when it didn’t seem like he would, Arthur slipped into the room and shut the door, heading to the drawer and tugging on it. Locked, but that wasn’t a problem. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lockpick, which Dutch hadn’t told him  _ not _ to bring, and easily opened it up.

The paper had been shoved into some sort of ledger, but the contents of the book didn’t interest him much. This was definitely a letter from Cornwall, and that was useful. He only glanced it over briefly before tucking it in his coat and shutting the desk drawer, making his exit and coming back down the stairs with hopefully no one the wiser.

Dutch was on the lower balcony where they’d first split up, and as he approached, Bill and Hosea came up the steps from the left. They all three stopped short, looking at Arthur with varying expressions of surprise. 

“The Hell happened to you?” Bill was the first to ask, bullish and gruff as usual, and Arthur turned to scowl at him.

“Shut up, Williamson. Nothin’.” He growled, face heating as Dutch just continued to stare.

“Arthur, you’ve got blood all over your face.” Hosea pointed out bluntly, and Arthur cursed, rubbing at his cheek with his sleeve again. “I thought we made it clear, no fights.”

“I weren’t in a fight.” Arthur huffed, glad at least that the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding quite as much. It was very tender and would definitely bruise, but it didn’t feel like that big of a cut. “I fell.”

“You... fell?” Dutch asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up and down at Arthur’s clothing. Maybe he hadn’t done a very good job of getting himself back to normal after all. Bill guffawed, and Arthur snarled at him. 

“ _ You _ wanna fight, Bill? ‘Cus you’re askin’ for one.” He felt jittery now, embarrassed and extremely aware of the way they were looking at him, and even if he’d managed to get through the night with something useful in hand, his pride harshly stung and he just wanted to leave.

“What’s your problem, Morgan?” Bill snapped back, and Dutch just sighed heavily, moving to stand between them. 

“Bill, enough. I got some good information here, so I think it’s time we take our leave.” He looked at each of them and then shook his head, walking back into the house and through to the front.

“What did I do?” Bill whined, following after Dutch nonetheless when neither Arthur nor Hosea answered him. “Well fine!”

Hosea stayed back, looking at Arthur and taking in his appearance with those shrewd eyes of his, making Arthur shift and look away.

“You fell?” He asked again, and Arthur could only nod. “Where?” He stepped closer, no doubt seeing the dried mud on Arthur’s coat, and after a moment of avoiding his eyes and trying not to get choked with shame, Arthur jabbed his thumb over to the bushes. 

“It ain’t a big deal, ‘Sea. ‘M fine.” He muttered, and the conman just nodded, patting Arthur on the shoulder.

“Alright. Go get in the carriage, I’ll catch up. I need to say farewell to a few of my new acquaintances.” Hosea gently pushed Arthur towards the door and watched him until he nodded and left, coming back to the front of the house and collecting the weapons he’d dropped off. Maybe it  _ was _ a good thing he hadn’t been allowed to bring them in; he probably would have shot somebody.

He greeted Lenny quietly and hopped up into the carriage, holding the side of his head and not looking at either Dutch or Bill, turning to stare out the window instead. It took perhaps another ten minutes before Hosea climbed in, and Dutch tapped the roof to let Lenny know they were ready to head back home.

“I ain’t never felt so awkward in all my life.” Bill complained as the carriage started to rock. “All them folk, all so pleased with themselves. High society’s pigeon shit! If you ask me, it’s more like torture.”

“Well that’s sort of the point of it, isn’t it?” Dutch replied smoothly. “Let the people torture themselves. Now,” Dutch turned to look at Arthur. “Did you get anything, son?” He looked expectant, and at least Arthur could say that he hadn’t failed him.

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the paper he’d snatched from Lemiuex’s office. He passed it over to Dutch’s waiting hand and then crossed his arms, subtly trying to hold his stomach. There was nothing left in it so why did he still feel so sick? He’d hit his head, sure, but not  _ that _ hard.

“Somethin’ about Cornwall. Seems like Lemieux’s in some pretty bad debt, I guess. Figured this was useful.” He said shortly, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window and closing his eyes.

Dutch just purred with approval. “I need some time to think, but... I might have an idea.” He smiled. “I also heard about a high stakes poker game on a riverboat that happens in a few days, and there’s the trolley station Signor Bronte told us about. Hosea, what about you?”

“Well...” He started, rubbing a hand over his chin. “A lot of money moves through here, changes a lot of hands. That means... the bank.”

“A city bank?” Dutch asked. 

“Yeah. I’ll need to look into it more, but... could be promising. A big city bank like this should have plenty of money for us, and we’ll need that money to get out of here, if we can figure out how to take it.” There were plenty of opportunities in this city for getting some cash and slipping away, that was true, but with the increase in reward came an increase in risk. They were playing at a very dangerous game, and this particular one they hadn’t really done before. Mayors and high society men and backstabbing Italians already all with their fingers in the pie, and here they came trying to take the whole thing without alerting any of them.

How had all this become  _ more _ complicated since Rhodes?

\---

Arthur wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse by the time they got back to Shady Belle. The rocking and swaying of the carriage had maintained his nausea, but with nothing left in his stomach he only had a few gags to cover for. His head hurt, but it wasn’t awful, and Hosea had taken a look and told him it wasn’t very deep or serious, head wounds just liked to bleed a lot more than any other type. He’d probably have a scar, though, which was just his luck. He shouldn’t have teased John so much.

Still, the old man had pat him on the shoulder as they exited the carriage and told him to get some rest, which he was all too happy to oblige. The camp was mostly still, only a few people still up, and even they seemed ready to head to sleep. He didn’t see Charles, which probably meant the man was already asleep or not yet back from wherever he’d been, so Arthur just staggered through and went up the stairs, nearly collapsing into bed and falling asleep without taking off any of his clothes.

But it was not restful. It was not peace. He tossed and turned and more than once he awoke with a gasp and a jerk, snapping his head over to look at the open window. But it was always empty, and why wouldn’t it be? Who would be staring through his window up on the second floor? And yet after an immeasurable amount of time spent doing this, Arthur was simply too jittery and frustrated to fall back asleep no matter his exhaustion. He got up, pulling that damn jacket and tie off and picking his hat up from the nightstand, grabbing his satchel by habit and making his way outside as quietly as he could.

The gazebo was empty, and Arthur brushed leaves and dirt from the bench before sitting down heavily and covering his eyes, leaning his elbows on his knees and trying to breathe. 

Christ. Having some sort of episode at the party was bad enough, humiliating that two strangers Arthur was fairly certain were an Indian chief and his son had been there to witness it. Now he couldn’t even sleep, afraid of shadows or just plain  _ nothing _ . Was there something wrong with his head? It wasn’t as if he’d never had nightmares before, but they hadn’t ever happened to him during his waking hours, and what had happened at the party had been exactly that. A nightmare while he was awake, everything wrong and him helpless to change or fix it. Maybe getting a crack on the head would help for all he knew.

But he was... probably overreacting. It was just the one time, right? The other times happened after actual nightmares... those didn’t count. So it was just once. Probably a fluke. He was probably just stupid; a big dumb bull getting startled by a loud noise. Dutch would laugh at him for sure.

“Moron.” He hissed, pulling his head up from his hands and reaching into his satchel for his journal. He didn’t want to write about anything, still a bit too muddled by it all, but he remembered the scene at the party well enough and the way the fountain had looked, and he simply let his mind go a little blank as he began to sketch it all out. He didn’t have the best lighting, but the fire was still big enough and some of the lights in the house were on, and it was enough to see by.

He then noticed the sun was creeping over the trees and the camp was starting to wake up around him, and he’d been out here for a few hours without realizing. Rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked back down at the sketch he’d made and paused. 

He’d... somehow drawn the faces wrong. He hadn’t been paying attention, he supposed, but... he’d made their eyes rather big and... dark, and the shapes of their heads were all wrong, and... they were all facing him. He hadn’t realized he’d done that. Hadn’t meant to. It made him feel a little uneasy, and he quickly shut his journal and stuffed it away before he could look at it any longer. 

Shake it off. It was nothing, and there was no reason for him to still feel this way. What he needed was some coffee and breakfast; he hadn’t eaten since before the party and seeing as that had all come back up, a little food in his stomach should help. Food and sunlight and maybe spending time with Charles, if he could get maybe an hour to himself without more work getting piled on him.

Rubbing out the slight crick in his neck and rolling his shoulders, Arthur stood and started making his way over to the cook fire, passing a few others who were already up and about. He was just bending down to grab himself a cup of coffee when he heard Micah’s slimy voice from a few feet behind him. 

“Hey redskin. Go fetch me somethin’ to eat.”

Arthur froze, before slowly standing back up and twisting around to see Micah sitting at a table and oh-so-casually addressing Charles, who had been making his way to the fire himself by the looks of it. Charles, though, had stopped in his tracks, face tight and fists clenched, and turned to face Micah.

“Excuse me?” He asked, and Arthur was just close enough to see the tick in his jaw as he spoke. But Micah, the utter fool, just stood up and walked over to Charles, expression nasty.

“I said, fetch me somethin’ to eat.” And as if to prove what an exceptional idiot he was, Micah gave Charles a shove. It hardly moved the bigger man, but Arthur was already stepping forward, hand itching for his gun and temper flaring like woken embers, rapidly lighting to an extreme fury.

He needn’t have done anything though, because in the next moment Charles had grabbed Micah by the front of his shirt and hauled him off his feet, throwing him into the dirt with a snarl. Micah hit the ground hard and Charles stepped closer, looming over him and glaring down with a look that reminded Arthur of a shotgun blast to a poachers chest. 

“Eat that.” He growled, standing there a moment longer, before turning and stalking off into the trees.

“You wanna watch that temper of yours, boy!” Micah shouted after him, getting up and furiously brushing mud off himself before he noticed Arthur’s ireful stare. “What’re you lookin’ at,  _ cowpoke _ ?” He hissed, and Arthur was  _ so  _ sorely tempted to push him right back down, maybe kick him, maybe more, but he just watched as Micah went off to the house to lick his wounds.

Arthur lingered for a moment before he went off after Charles, finding him leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette, face set like stone and eyes hard as he looked off into nothing. Arthur didn’t say anything as he came up beside him, trying to swallow down his own anger enough so that it wasn’t choking him mute. 

“I’ll talk with Dutch.” He said eventually, his voice rougher than he’d intended. Charles didn’t react immediately, pulling a long drag before flicking the butt away. 

“Don’t worry about it, Arthur.” He breathed out slowly, tilting his head back and letting the smoke curl up from his mouth, visibly trying to calm himself. “I can handle men like Micah.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Arthur shook his head, hands tightening again. “It ain’t right.” He was fuming, could feel the anger pulsing through him, making his head throb and his teeth ache.

“No, it isn’t. But there are men like Micah all over the place, ‘specially down here, and I can take care of myself.” He stated, and Arthur felt a little lump start forming in his throat. It wasn’t okay to let Micah treat Charles like that, or anyone. Arthur had heard the way the man spoke to Charles, to Lenny and Tilly and Javier, and it boiled his blood. Only now it was getting to him a bit worse than just that. It might’ve been the lack of sleep, but he was sorely tempted to turn back around and find Micah, beat him into the dirt like so many debtors, and leave him to be a gator’s lunch.

Charles set a hand on his shoulder, rousing him from these violent daydreams, then slowly took hold of his chin and tilted his head up. The man’s expression was clouded, and his eyes roamed over Arthur’s face before stopping on his temple. 

“What happened?” He asked, and it took Arthur a moment to realize what he was talking about. 

“Huh? Oh, the, uh...” He averted his eyes, not wanting to let his glare become directed at Charles. “Fell. At the party. You know me.”

“Hm.” Charles looked at him for a moment before releasing his chin and gently tracing his hand over the scabbed cut. “You were out pretty late. Get anything interesting?”

Charles’ fingers were rough and warm, and the simple touch brought more comfort to Arthur than he was apparently capable of bringing himself. It felt nice, and it cooled the heat of his anger just a little, just enough.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He shrugged, and scuffed his fancy shoes in the mud. He wanted to change out of these stupid clothes. “Met some interestin’ folks, I guess. Evelyn Miller, that writer Dutch is always goin’ on about, an’, uh... well I didn’t catch their names, but a couple Indian fellers. They was... nice. Helped me a bit after I knocked my head.” He didn’t want to get into detail about all of that, though. 

Charles dropped his hand and Arthur suddenly missed the contact  _ very  _ much. Aside from looking, he hadn’t been able to spend any real time with Charles. Something always needed doing, and when he did manage to catch a little bit of time other people were always around. He wanted to go on another hunting trip, if only just to be close with him and not have to worry about anyone seeing them, or... making too much noise. He wanted to be able to touch Charles more, hear his laugh, but there were just so many things in the way.

And now he was no longer angry; like a switch being flipped in his head he was suddenly quite sad. The kind of sadness that made him feel a little choked up, and he cleared his throat and turned his face back down to hide it. Stupid.

“Arthur, you... have you slept?” Charles asked, and Arthur just shrugged and shook his head, worried that his voice might wobble and give him away.

“Alright, come on.” Charles sighed, but he sounded that special sort of fond that meant he thought Arthur was being a fool and didn’t mind all that much. He started off towards the house and Arthur followed wordlessly. 

Maybe Charles was right, and all he needed was some sleep. It wasn’t like he’d never missed a night’s sleep before, but after the past few months he’d felt more worn down than he could ever remember. It must be taking a toll on him. That was probably all that was happening; stress and worry making him act a little crazy. Outbursts and episodes and the way his mood changed like the wind could probably all be explained by being tired and overworked.

He kept his head down and shut the door behind him once they got to his room. It felt too early to sleep; they had an entire day that was just barely starting, but Arthur couldn’t deny how desperately he just wanted to lie down.

He shucked off his fancy shoes - too dirty to look all that nice anymore - and began pulling off the rest of these Godforsaken clothes, tossing them into the corner where he wouldn’t have to look at them and then rooting around in the trunk by his bed for something else to wear. A pair of old jeans and one of the old shirts he hadn’t yet gotten rid of would do.

Well, mostly. He couldn’t get the top few buttons to close on the shirt at all, and it made part of him want to just rip it to shreds and scream, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He just left the whole thing unbuttoned and went to lay face down on the cot, pressing his face into the pillow and trying not to allow his eyes to water like they seemed to be wanting to do.  _ Stupid _ .

The cot shifted and creaked and he felt Charles settle in behind him, running his hand up and down Arthur’s back, easing the tension in his muscles.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Charles seemed a bit unsure, a bit hesitant, and Arthur wouldn’t blame him if he was questioning Arthur’s sanity right now. He felt like in the past few hours he’d jumped around between anxious, frustrated, angry, and now tearful, like some sort of emotional jackrabbit.

“No. Yeah. I dunno.” He mumbled, pulling his face from the pillow enough to let Charles hear him. “Didn’t wanna go to the party in the first place, an’ then I make a fool outta myself an’ get all wore out over it, felt so rotten all I wanted to do was sleep but couldn’t do  _ that neither _ . Wanted to get some breakfast, but then  _ Micah  _ goes an’ spoils my appetite by bein’ a nasty stain on humanity, an’ half my  _ dang shirts  _ don’t  _ fit _ .” He pressed his face back down.

Charles didn’t have anything to say to that, and perhaps there  _ was _ nothing to say. He just laid down beside Arthur and placed his arm around the outlaw’s waist, tugging him close. The cot was cramped, but they somehow managed to get comfortable, slotting together almost too easily. And as soon as they did, with Charles’ warmth pressed against his back and his arm secured around his middle, Arthur couldn’t fight the pull of his eyelids any longer.

Charles’ breathing was calm, his hands were warm and steady, and as Arthur drifted off he wished so desperately that this could be what every night was like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think our boah has a lil bit of PTSD, what do you guys think? >>;;
> 
> Also, just gonna be clear here: Arthur did not give himself a concussion, so no worries about him going to sleep or anything. He just knocked his noggin around a little bit.


	18. Chapter 18

Charles awoke sometime in the afternoon pressed up against Arthur’s back, the sky dark with storm clouds and the air thick and active with the coming rain. But the warmth between their bodies and the rather delightful curve of Arthur’s backside against his groin had him pressing in a little closer, wanting to savor this moment before the need for productivity arose and forced him to get up. 

He wasn’t accustomed to lazing around, but clearly something was going on with Arthur and he felt a little bad about leaving the man to stew in it all by himself. Micah’s comment had upset the outlaw far more than Charles had thought it would, and while Charles himself had been pretty pissed off it hadn’t been any more infuriating than any other time that ignorant fool decided to open his mouth. He expected it from Micah at this point, and it honestly just gave him an excuse to take the man down a notch. 

But he felt like there was more to it than that for Arthur. He had never been one to tolerate bigotry, but he usually responded with a snappy comment or a threatening word before letting it drop, not... well, Charles wasn’t sure, but he suspected that after the anger had cooled Arthur had been about to  _ cry _ . He’d looked exhausted as well, bruise-colored circles under his eyes and lines between his brows, a heaviness to his shoulders that indicated the type of fatigue that was more than just one bad night's sleep. Not to mention the cut on his head, still a fresh and angry red.

The past month had been difficult for everyone, though it seemed for Arthur especially so, and though he hadn’t said anything about it Charles saw he was struggling with his self-control. He’d heard about the outburst Arthur had on Swanson, and while he did agree the man could be a bit irritating at times it wasn’t like Arthur to snap at the gang like that.

But he understood what Arthur must be going through; losing Sean in such a way, shocking and sudden like that, and then having John and his family leave right after getting Jack back, which Charles knew had been incredibly hard for Arthur... not to mention that meeting with Mary. Arthur hadn’t gotten much of a break for the past while, and it seemed like the last real chance he’d gotten had been his recovery from the O’Driscoll’s, which had carried its own set of difficulties.

This party at the mayor’s house didn’t seem like it had helped anything - something had happened, and it wasn’t like Arthur to be  _ clumsy _ like he’d tried to excuse it as, or at least he’d never known him to be. Charles just hoped it wasn’t his ankle starting to act up - it had been a clean break and an easy enough set, but Charles still worried that it might cause him trouble if he wasn’t careful. But Arthur had not been limping or favoring one leg over the other, and aside from being tired he’d seemed alright, physically speaking...

Charles sat up a little bit, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair, tracing his thumb down the side of his sleeping face. He didn’t know what was wrong or if Arthur would want him to ask... and with his mood lately perhaps it was better just to let this go and hope that Arthur could resolve it himself. And yet he was... worried. If something was going on with Arthur, how could Charles say he loved him and yet leave him to struggle alone?

He’d wanted so badly to have something with Arthur that was more than just fooling around, and even though Arthur had said he had no experience being with men Charles himself had never truly had a relationship before. There had been a few girls over the years but it was never anything that was meant to last, and with men he had known better than to try for more than one night. 

But Arthur was special. Charles really did love him and was willing to enter this forbidden and tantalizing territory for him, and that in itself was nerve-wracking. By loving Arthur so plainly he had opened himself up to pain; he knew the man to hold a temper when he was on edge, fully capable of biting sarcasm and gnashing bitterness, and if his mood turned on Charles he knew it would hurt far more than Micah’s words ever could. 

And there were pieces of him that doubted he’d ever be allowed to have anything good, that he could ever have something that wouldn’t hurt him eventually. His entire life up until joining Dutch’s gang had been marked by milestones of heartache and loneliness, with only the very beginning holding that hazy peace he’d longed for ever since, and perhaps he had let this gathering of lost souls ease him into a false security, promising comfort, a family. Being Arthur’s first experience with a man carried the risk of Arthur changing his mind about it all, right? Not wanting the trouble or the secrecy that came with this type of coupling, or just deciding he preferred women after all. Not to mention the possibility of death which still dogged their steps. He could lose Arthur  _ tomorrow _ , and if he did could he say the pain he’d feel would be worth the joy?

Closing his eyes, Charles let out a slow breath, stopping that train of thought before he got himself all tangled up in these circles that went nowhere. It wasn’t fair to Arthur to predict their downfall like this, and it wasn’t fair to himself either. He was so afraid of losing this because it had become so meaningful in such a short amount of time, but if he let the fear of loss scare him away like he’d let it in the past it would only fulfill itself. If all he did with Arthur was worry over losing him, wouldn’t he eventually do just that?

Arthur gave a little mumble and shifted closer in his sleep, turning his face towards the hand that Charles had rested in his hair. With his face eased by sleep Charles could see how his lashes brushed the tops of his freckled cheeks, how the scars and nicks in his face didn’t take away from how handsome he was. He saw the little bits of Arthur that he liked to hide beneath his hat, the hints of the gentleness he showed to only a handful of people, to Charles. Arthur trusted him, and Charles knew how difficult it must have been to do that, to even allow himself to have the feelings that had grown into what they were now. Charles had no doubts that deep down Arthur was a gentle man, a man who liked animals and had a soft spot for women and children. A man who cared about others and wasn’t afraid to make his opinions known. He wanted to help people, defend them from injustice, but more often than not he was made to kill them, hurt them, beat them. All the times that he had been forced to be cruel sometimes snuck into his heart when there was no need, and he shuttered himself away from the vulnerability of kindness, but it still lived and breathed within him and Charles could see it.

He would bet money that Arthur would be happy to stop all that if he ever had the chance, but would he? Would Dutch’s dreams of paradise in anonymity ever be fully realized and allow Arthur the peaceful life they were  _ all  _ seeking?

He wasn’t sure - not with how things had been the past two months - but it was worth trying for anyway, wasn’t it? At the very least, none of them were alone. At the very least, even if he had to fight and kill and put aside the better parts of his humanity to survive, Charles wasn’t alone.

Despite it all, he thought perhaps he was more afraid of that than anything.

\---

“Wake up.” A soft kiss pressed against his temple and Arthur grumbled, burrowing his face further into his pillow. He didn’t feel ready to get up, and in that foggy place between awake and asleep he didn’t know what time it was or why he should care.

Charles’ lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “Arthur, it’s nearly three, you should get up.” Charles shifted, and it became apparent that Arthur’s pillow was actually the other man’s arm. And despite how warm and comfortable he was... Charles was right. 

“Mmn...” He frowned, cracking his eyes open and seeing Charles poised on his elbow behind him, a soft smile on his lips. It set Arthur’s heart fluttering, just that simple sight of waking up to the other man’s face, his hair a bit mussed and that easy crease of fondness to his eyes.

“Hey.” Charles whispered as he made room for Arthur to sit up, leaning his back against the wall. “Feel better?”

Arthur nodded, stifling a yawn and rubbing at his face. He always felt so groggy if he slept during the day, but at the very least he wasn’t dancing on a knife’s edge anymore. “Yeah.” He breathed, voice rough as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout, uh, earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it, Arthur.” Charles assured him, and despite his soft insistence on waking Arthur, neither of them got up just yet. Instead, Charles leaned in slowly with a question in the tilt of his brows, a want, and Arthur answered thoughtlessly by closing the gap between them, pressing his lips readily against Charles’, running his hand down the man’s side and tugging on him just a little, a wordless request that Charles filled easily. They shifted together, Charles settling between Arthur’s legs and leaning over him as they kissed, soft and slow and lazy. 

Arthur had missed him, missed this so much, and he tried to deepen the kiss and get a little more to make up for all the days they hadn’t been able to touch one another, nipping at Charles’ plush bottom lip and grabbing at his hips to pull them flush together. 

Charles gave a soft sound and pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against Arthur’s, looking ever so slightly pink. “Arthur, we shouldn’t. Not right now, it’s...” He glanced at the window, open and glassless as it was, and Arthur understood. 

It didn’t mean he had to like it though. 

“What if we’re quiet?” He suggested, and Charles gave a small laugh, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Arthur, we’ve been  _ trying  _ to be quiet.” He said flatly, and Arthur flushed at the insinuation; he knew he’d been loud before, and probably would have gotten them caught if it hadn’t been for how noisy the party had been that night.

“I, uh... sorry. It don’t... bother you, right?” He asked quietly, bashfully, and Charles answered by kissing him again, slipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and tangling his fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. It took his breath away, and he moaned in soft surprise, arching up and grasping at Charles’ waist. Heat started to bubble comfortably in his lower belly, and he felt his nipples hardening as Charles pressed their chests together, warm and smooth and wide.

Charles pulled away again, more reluctantly this time, his eyes seeming darker and sharper with tangible lust. “No, Arthur.” He whispered against Arthur’s lips, giving him a chaste kiss between words. “It doesn’t bother me. I love listening to you... hearing the sounds you make when I touch you just right...” Another kiss. “The way you say my name when I’m inside you, I want to keep it all to myself.”

Arthur was throbbing in his pants, looking breathlessly up at Charles and feeling his stomach squirm with want. When Charles spoke like that it set a fire blazing in his guts, got him going so quickly he probably should have been embarrassed by it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Th-that ain’t fair.” He whined, and Charles nudged his groin against Arthur’s in response, his arousal matched by the bulge in Charles’ jeans. Arthur sucked a breath between his teeth, tightening his grip on Charles’ waist and spreading his legs just a bit more.

“I’m sorry.” Charles kissed him slowly once more, apologetic and sweet. “I don’t mean to tease you. I want it too, but...” He looked again towards the window, a strong breeze starting to blow, fluttering the curtains and allowing the smell of rain to enter the room, earthy and thick. People would probably be coming inside soon, if they could.

“Ain’t fair.” Arthur repeated softly, drawing Charles’ attention back to him, breathing a bit quicker. “Sayin’ things like that... makes me feel all hot ‘n bothered. Makes me want you real bad...”

“How bad?” Charles groaned, trailing his lips to Arthur’s neck and biting down, kissing in that way that Arthur knew he’d have to hide with his bandana and a buttoned collar, and no matter the wisdom in not doing this here or now Arthur couldn’t help but get wrapped up in everything Charles was.

“R-real bad.” He panted. “Makes me want it, want you. Makes me  _ ache  _ inside, I... I f-feel...” He took Charles’ hand, drawing it down his body and pressing it between his legs, below his prick at the seat of his pants. “Feels empty... Right in here.”

“Christ.” Charles moaned against his skin, gripping his ass and kneading the flesh through Arthur’s ratty jeans. “Want me to fill you up, sweet thing? Want me to open you up and stretch you out?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” Arthur gasped, lashes fluttering at the surge of desire that flooded through him. Oh  _ Lord _ , how he wanted it. Charles had built this bonfire in Arthur’s body and even the simplest look or comment was like a stray ember ready to catch, and when it was like this - when they were so close, touching, kissing - it set it to a raging inferno that made him melt.

They were pulling the clothes from each other in the next instant, a near desperate flurry of fumbling kisses, Arthur sitting up to let Charles tug the shirt from his shoulders as his own hands started on Charles’ pants. It was impossible to stop this urgency to feel his skin against Charles’ with nothing in between, to have that feeling he was quickly coming to crave of the other man seated inside him. As if some dormant part of himself had been awakened by the younger man, he thirsted for it no matter the danger or the risk of being caught.

His shirt was off, pants open, and Charles was quickly following behind when a sound cut through the air, sharp and visceral, causing them to come to a screeching and sudden halt. 

Someone was screaming.

\---

The O’Driscoll’s had come, descended upon them like so many flies to this half-sunken corpse of a house, dozens of them from all sides, and Arthur lost count of how many bullets he sent flying through the air and into men’s skulls. It was a mad rush for cover, Arthur and Charles both shirtless as they ran out of the house and tried to buy the others enough time to get inside, as much protection as those moth-eaten walls would offer. 

The rain was falling heavily, warm fat drops that splattered against Arthur’s face and made his hands slick on the stock and trigger of his repeater. It saturated the earth, everything churning up into a frothing sludge before long, only made worse by the blood that was added with every dropped foe.

Dutch shouted orders, his voice booming above the din of gunfire and crackling like thunder, and Arthur followed them without thought. He knew this, he understood this specific type of panic and adrenaline. This was not lights in the sky, this was men; human beings. He could  _ do _ something about this.

Each bullet found a home inside a man’s body, none wasted, and Arthur controlled his breathing and his hands and his heart, ruthlessly efficient in this familiar haze of look, aim, shoot. And no matter how many came or how close the bullets were as they whizzed by his ears, he didn’t falter. The rushing pulse of blood in his ears, exhaling as he fired, downing anyone with that O’Driscoll green around their necks, morbid and familiar.

And then it was over.

Mrs Adler had made herself a painting from the innards of several O’Driscoll’s, decorating her clothes and soaking into her hair so thickly that not even the rain could wash it away. She looked like a wild Hell-cat; with her pupils just sharp little pinpricks in her eyes and red gore staining her face, and Arthur felt a grateful little chill up his spine that she was on their side.

“Cowards!” Dutch shouted as he stood at the entrance to their garden of death, smoking pistols in each hand and a rage in his voice so powerful it cracked under the strain.

“We all okay?” Hosea called as he came out the front door, looking around and trying to catch sight of anybody in the mud who didn’t belong there. Arthur was already doing the same, and didn’t think any of their own had fallen.

No bright red hair stained by bright red dirt and bright red blood.

He blinked it away.

“I think so.” Dutch said, his tone a quiet seething thing that slithered between his lips, restrained only due to with whom he was speaking. “Keiran?”

“They got him pretty bad.” Hosea muttered, shaking his head,and Arthur stepped up to them.

“What do you mean? He’s dead?” Arthur hadn’t spotted him, but the idea that young Keiran was somehow amidst the bodies of his former gang turned enemy didn't sit right with Arthur. 

“No.” Hosea responded grimly. “They took an eye, poor kid, and he’s been pretty messed up, but he ain’t dead. Swanson is caring for him now, but... well, we’ll see what we can do. Might not be enough.”

They took an eye? Barbaric, and a cold reminder of how lucky Arthur had been to escape from Colm’s clutches, however he had managed it.

“How?” Was Arthur’s next question, spilling from his lips. “I mean, how’d they even find us here? How’d they snatch Keiran? Boy never left camp on his own.”

Dutch had turned away, towards the trees and the hidden road into Shady Belle, and was silent for long enough that Arthur wasn’t sure he’d get an answer. But then Dutch looked back and pinned Arthur with a wild stare. 

“John.” He seethed between clenched teeth, nodding to himself as if he’d cracked some great mystery. Arthur just stared at him, first in confusion and then disbelief. 

“What?” He wasn’t sure he understood what Dutch was saying, because he couldn’t be saying what Arthur thought he was. John was not responsible for this, there was just no way. Arthur may believe Dutch on nearly everything, but he couldn’t believe him on this.

“He must’ve talked, it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Dutch began to pace, Hosea and Arthur watching him as he made ruts in the mud, rain falling and sticking his hair to his face. Charles was standing close by, his face utterly blank and his posture rigid, giving no input or indication of what he thought about that.

“Dutch, you can’t mean that.” Arthur tried unwisely to rouse Dutch from his manic thinking, but Dutch just turned on him, hackles raised and eyes burning.

“He’s  _ betrayed  _ us, son!” He shouted, his voice taking on that wavering crackle that set Arthur’s teeth on edge. “He talked or got caught, and because he was so  _ full  _ of himself that he couldn’t  _ trust _ us to keep his boy safe, thought he could do  _ better  _ on his own,  _ now _ look what’s happened! We’re lucky nobody  _ died _ , and even so, young Keiran still just  _ might! _ ”

“That can’t be the case, there’s another reason for this.” Hosea attempted, but unlike last time his words of reason didn’t seem to penetrate Dutch’s fury. Their leader rounded on his oldest friend and turned his ire towards a new target, no longer holding himself back.

“No! I took your  _ word  _ that things would be alright, I  _ trusted- _ ”

“We talked about this!” Hosea interrupted sharply, voice hoarse as he raised his volume to match with Dutch. “I thought you agreed with me that it was better to-”

“I  _ did _ agree, and  _ now  _ look at all of  _ this _ !” Dutch cut him off right back, spreading his arms out wide as if to further display the corpses that were slowly sinking into the mud, flies already buzzing loudly in Arthur’s ears. “I should have listened to Micah; he  _ warned  _ me that something like this might happen, warned me that a  _ loose end  _ would only cause trouble!”

“N-no...” Arthur choked, throat thick and stomach twisting. John was not a loose end, not a traitor, and the fact that  _ Micah _ had somehow slithered his way into Dutch’s ear once again sat ill in his gut. “Colm is... he must’a had scouts, must’a found us some other way. We ain’t exactly been  _ quiet _ , an’ you know he ain’t never gonna let nothin’ go. That man... he can  _ really _ hate.” And Arthur knew from his hazy memories of that time in the cellar, though barely able to string anything together, he could remember enough to know.

“So can I, Arthur.” Dutch rumbled lowly, eyes burning. “So can I.”

He didn’t want to hear this. Not John. Despite everything that his idiot little brother had done Arthur didn’t believe that John was capable of this, no matter what happened. He’d left to keep his family safe, and Arthur had thought Dutch was willing to let him go, let him flourish and grow, but apparently he’d kept hidden his true feelings on the matter. He’d told them all it was a free man’s choice to stay or leave, but apparently he’d lied.

“We need to get moving.” Dutch said then, shifting the topic so quickly it made Arthur’s head spin. “Away from here.”

“So... we start lookin’ for another camp?” Arthur crossed his arms over his naked chest, feeling vulnerable out here, pinned and uncomfortable beneath Dutch’s stare and the pouring rain.

“You ain’t thinking  _ big  _ enough, Arthur.” Dutch growled, something patronizing in his tone that made Arthur hunch his shoulders just a bit. “You ain’t seeing the  _ vastness  _ of our problems, and our  _ opportunities _ .”

“I ain’t sure I get you.” He muttered, but he didn’t think he could fight against Dutch. It felt like fighting against the pull of gravity sometimes, and Arthur was pushed and pulled at his mentors whim.

“You will, son. You will.” Dutch gave Arthur one rough pat on his shoulder before he turned and started walking towards The Count, the albino stallion agitated and stamping his hooves, whinnying and pulling at where his reins were tethered to the post. “I need some time to think.” Was the last thing he called before he mounted up and broke into a gallop, riding off into the trees. 

Arthur stood there silently, staring after Dutch and feeling like he was losing something. It wasn’t like Dutch to suspect treachery when there was no evidence, but... was this evidence? If Dutch was so sure then who was Arthur to disagree or think he knew better, big dumb brute that he was?

“Alright boys.” Hosea sighed from behind him, addressing both him and Charles, and Arthur turned to see the conman looking far too old, far too weary. “Go put your clothes on, then come back out here and help get rid of... all of this.” He shook his head, the weight of death heavy on his shoulders, deepening the lines of his face.

“Sure.” Arthur agreed, dropping his eyes as he made his way back into the house.

Passing the main room, he saw Keiran laid out on a table with Strauss working over him, Mary-Beth and Ms Grimshaw assisting where they could. The boy looked... rough. Beaten black and blue, a dark gory pit in his skull where his left eye had been, pale and shaking and unconscious by either luck or Swanson’s care.

Charles put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and turned him away from it, leading him up the stairs while Arthur tried to figure out what the Hell had just happened.

\---

_ Keiran saved my life, and I hope we can save his. I suppose I haven’t treated him real fair, haven’t even gotten a chance to know him very well. But he might die anyway, and it leaves me feeling rotten. _

_ Mrs Adler fought braver than any of us - she is driven by powerful forces I scarcely understand, but that’s what love has done to her, I guess.  _

_ I don’t know what I would do if someone took Charles from me. I know this life is dangerous, we both do, but to see the way loss covers that woman like a funeral shroud is a stark reminder that caring for someone is a double-edged sword. A reminder I feel I do not need. _

_ Dutch is convinced that it was John who led the bastards to us, but I  _ _ can’t _ _ believe that. Hosea seems to agree with me but it won’t do no good if Dutch won’t listen. He wants to stay here, and just like at Horseshoe I think we should leave before things get worse, but he didn’t listen then and he won’t listen now. It’s his call, not mine. I should put more faith in him like he’s always asking,  _ ~~_ but sometimes it feels it won’t ever be enough _ ~~ _. I don’t know. Maybe I ain’t smart enough to figure all this out, maybe I should just keep my mouth shut. _

_ Another day I could have died, another day we call could have. But I’m still here, and I’m beginning to wonder how that’s fair. I can’t help my family near as much as they need, and I fear that something in me is broken. I can last through a gunfight without losing my head but not a party. My moods confuse me and I don’t understand why they change as rapidly as they do. We used to tease Molly for the same thing, and I have no doubt the others must be talking behind my back. I can only thank whatever is out there that I haven’t yet chased Charles away.  _

_ They’re all I have, and even if I like some more than others I would still give everything I am for them. I hope it will be enough. _

_ I miss Jack,  _ ~~_ and I miss Isaac _ ~~ _. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo boy. We start off with some sad Charles, which hopefully explains how I'm portraying him a little bit more? Just a snippet of him though. Dutch apparently wasn't as forgiving of John as he seemed, or did someone change his mind? For those of you that were worried, Kieran has not been decapitated LOL
> 
> Cockblocking my own damn cowboys was hilarious.


	19. Respite and Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, I just want to give a HUGE and MASSIVE thank you to everyone who had commented and given kudos, and all the people who'd bookmarked this story. It means SO SO SO much to me, and I'm SO grateful! Everyone has been so friendly and kind and supportive, and it's really motivated me and helped me keep writing when this story has gotten a bit difficult to figure out. 
> 
> I know I said a few chapters ago that I thought we'd have a little more than twenty chapters, but... LOL we are probably not even halfway through yet? It just keeps getting bigger, and I'm trying my best but I honestly have no idea how long this thing will end up being. I really appreciate all of you who enjoy this story, and I hope I don't make this far more complicated than it needs to be, but... IDEAS.

Three days passed before Dutch returned, and in that time Hosea made it clear no one was to leave camp alone. The rule of pairs was reinstated, but nobody was dumb enough to complain - all it took was one look at Keiran’s pitiable form to remind them all why. 

From what they could gather, the boy had left to go fishing on his own at dawn and had been ambushed not too far from Shady Belle. The fact that he was nearby when they snatched him was enough evidence to support Keiran being innocent of treachery himself; the O’Driscoll’s already knew where they were, Duffy was just a game to them.

In those three days, Arthur went patrolling around the perimeter of the old plantation house at almost every hour with Charles and Javier, looking for any signs that the O’Driscoll’s might be lingering around or preparing for another assault. But with the amount of bodies Arthur had dumped into the swamp after the assault, he was sure that they would need more time before doing anything else.

Albert Mason would probably be pleased at all the food given to the gators that day. Though maybe not, if he had known what type.

When Dutch finally returned, Arthur had expected to be told of a plan or their next course of action, but no such thing occurred. When Arthur had asked about their next move he’d simply told him not to worry, but there had been a look in his eyes that worried Arthur anyway.

Keiran had been moved into the big empty room across from Arthur, given that he needed a bed and no one had yet decided who it should go to. People went in and out at all hours, day and night; checking on the boy, cleaning and redressing his wounds, making sure he didn’t die in his sleep and wasn’t screaming out in pain when he didn’t have to be.

It made it impossible for Charles to come into his room at night, and it also made it impossible for Arthur to sleep. The hole in that wall allowed any and all noise to spread into the hallway unfiltered, and Arthur’s door could only keep out so much. After a week of being woken up in the middle of the night or being unable to fall asleep at all, pulling his pillow over his head and gritting his teeth at the pitiful wailing and delirious mumbling, he got up with the sun and dressed for the road, unable to stomach the thought of breakfast at the moment, and made his way over to the horses. He thought about dragging Charles with him but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rein his temper in and keep himself from snapping at the other man, and he truly didn’t wish to do that. So he just saddled Beast quickly, the other members of the gang seeming to detect his mood and giving him a wide berth as he got the shire ready and left, trotting out onto the road before breaking into a full gallop. He knew he shouldn’t leave on his own but he didn’t think he could stand to stay either, and almost welcomed the idea of someone trying to pick a fight with him out here.

Not paying attention to where he was going, he let Beast pick the path, keeping his shoulders hunched so tightly his back ached with it.

He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to focus on any of the thoughts which were swirling around in his head and making his stomach churn. He just listened to the heavy beat of Beast’s hooves on the packed dirt, splashing through rivers and turning corners faster than he ought to, ignoring anyone he spotted out on the road and pushing the stallion until the great thing started to toss his head and whinny. Only then did Arthur slow, pulling off the road and feeling Beast’s sides heave between his legs with his great breaths. It probably wasn’t fair, and he felt bad for working the poor creature like this, but he needed to get away from camp and everyone in it before he did something he would regret. 

He slid off the saddle and was surprised to realize he’d ridden a lot further than he’d thought. He was back in New Hanover, hadn’t even realized he was crossing Scarlett Meadows, but he recognized the area he was in almost instantly - Horseshoe Overlook. Why had he come here? He hadn’t been thinking and hadn’t been directing Beast all that much, so perhaps the shire had just taken him to this location out of habit. Either way, with the lather that had gathered under Beast’s saddle he didn’t want to make him leave just yet and took the reins in hand, leading the tired horse to the middle of the empty overlook, looking around at the ghostly remains of their old camp. The firepit was sitting there, so cold and empty, likely not having been used since they’d fled all those months ago. He saw some cans and various other detritus littered about, and there were a few crates that he supposed they hadn’t managed to take with them in the mad rush to pack up and leave after the massacre in Valentine. 

He untacked Beast, calming him with soft apologies and praise, feeding him a few carrots from his satchel and brushing him down, trying to get the worst of the sweat out of his coat. The sounds of the birds chittering all around and fluttering through the bushes, the cool breeze floating up from the crest of the cliff edge, the way he could look out over the valley and river below... it was calming. He hadn’t been out on his own in a while, and even then it hadn’t been for pleasure for even longer. He’d really liked this spot...

It was already past midday when Arthur had Beast’s coat gleaming, and he let the shiny black stallion wander around the empty area and nibble at grass as Arthur made his way over to the cliff, sitting himself down and letting his legs dangle over the ledge. Lighting a cigarette and leaning back on his palms, he just... looked. The view from up here was breathtaking, and while Arthur was not a religious or spiritual man in any way, he thought that if such things  _ did  _ exist then they had surely had a hand in making this.

His eyes were suddenly watering, and although he didn’t understand it and couldn’t fathom why, he didn’t fight it. All the way out here with not a soul around to see, Arthur let the tears build up in his eyes and blinked them down his cheeks. 

Maybe it was the peace and the quiet and the memories that this place held, but he felt that it was perhaps okay to be so vulnerable out here all alone. There just hadn’t been time for it the past few weeks, and now that he was back here he was drawn into the immaterial echoes of the way camp had sounded, the way they’d all sung and rejoiced at being down from those frozen mountains, the party that had been held for Sean on his safe return. What was it the Irish bastard had said?  _ A lost brother now found _ . Arthur hadn’t ever told him, but maybe Sean had known that’s how he felt? He hoped he’d known; Arthur had never been all that good at showing his care to those that mattered to him. But even so, he’d known Arthur would allow him on that train job of John’s despite his grumbling.

But both those brothers were gone now, equally out of reach for all that he could speak to them again. His nephew too, and... Lord, he missed Jack something fierce. Missed his little face and his bright and cheerful voice, missed when he would come up to Arthur and tug on his pant leg to get his attention. He missed how soft Jack’s little cheeks were, like only children and babies could have, round and pink when he was happy. Missed those little hands held out to receive candy or sweets. Missed the way he’d struggle with reading like his father and Arthur had, but patient and gentle Hosea was ever firm that it could be done, and then how proud he’d be at getting it right. He was so young and already smarter than Arthur had been at his age, probably John too.

It was hitting him hard, he knew. He hadn’t been able to allow himself to feel it, there just wasn't time, and maybe that was why he’d been acting like a maniac lately but it was almost as bad as losing Isaac. He’d been thinking about both of them so much lately, been thinking about children in general. Did he... want another? Charles had asked him a while back, but it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it. Just another desire to lock away and keep to himself, because he doubted very much that there would ever be an opportunity to have another baby in his life, and he had never considered himself overly paternal in general but maybe it was his age catching up to him? He had heard that at a certain age women felt the desire to have a baby more than other times in their lives... Did that happen with men? Or was it just this loss that was so hard for him to fully understand, his inability to move on from either one that made him act crazy? Certainly after losing Isaac he’d lost it for a while...

Holding a baby, hearing them cry and laugh, watching their big eyes wander around a room, the little babbles they made. How they grew so fast, too fast, and how  _ pure _ they were, how untouched by all the awful things that happened and existed in this world. Such small things that somehow took up such a large amount of space in his heart. God, it made his chest ache so fiercely. 

He wanted a baby.

“Stop torturing yourself, Morgan. Ain’t never gonna happen.” He sniffled, cigarette smoked to the butt and tears slowly drying, naturally having run their course instead of remaining stifled and smothered in the back of his head. It wasn’t a  _ good  _ feeling that he was left with, but it was less... noisy. He knew he was sour, bitter, and jaded, and he usually dealt with it all just fine, but it had been harder lately. Releasing this, letting himself acknowledge what must have been stewing in the pits of his heart since John had taken his family and left, it left him feeling terribly sad, but... looser.

And good Lord, now he was  _ exhausted _ . He hadn’t slept a wink last night, and his mad rush from camp meant he hadn’t taken much with him. Only his satchel and whatever was already in his saddlebags, which he didn’t think was much at the moment. Still, he went and found where he’d placed them, digging through and bringing out a can of beans and some hard bread. 

The ferocious appetite that had plagued him a few weeks ago seemed to have returned, but it was sometimes overridden by an intense and random nausea that occasionally made it very difficult for him to keep anything down. Smells that he used to like now bothered him, and tastes and textures would as well, at times. He didn’t know why, but it was probably due to stress if he had to guess. 

Still, he wasn’t about to eat his beans cold, so he moved over to the skeleton of a campfire and set about bringing it back to life, gathering sticks and appropriate pieces of wood he found laying around, building it up and setting it alight as easily as anything. It wasn’t yet very late, but he didn’t want to return to camp or wander around much at the moment - Beast deserved a rest. So he cooked his beans and let his bread soak in the warm juices in the can, softening it before eating them together, trying not to burn his hands as he took the can away from the fire. 

He just watched the flames for a while after that, letting his body ease down into the soft grass, laying on his side with his head propped up by his palm. He took his journal out after a moment and began to sketch the overlook, empty and open but still beautiful. He sketched the plains beneath him, the river he could see, the mountains of Ambarino farther out, the clouds hanging in the sky and drifting lazily past. 

Turning the page, he let himself draw Charles next. Smiling and soft, the vision of him Arthur had woken up to with his hair slightly messy and those beautiful eyes looking down at him. Capturing the curve of his full mouth and the vein-like scar along the bottom of his cheek, Arthur wondered if Charles was thinking about him now, or if he was perhaps too busy for that. Maybe Arthur  _ should _ have brought him along... but then he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to find the courage to allow himself to cry. He was still a bit embarrassed about that, but if he never mentioned it then it would be as if it had never happened.

The sky was beginning to turn dark now, and he fed more sticks into the fire.

_ I still hope that things will work out the way I was always told they would. I want it to be true, but I’m not sure Dutch’s ideas are the same as they used to be. I’m not sure he is either. It’s my duty as his son to stand behind him and never doubt him, I know, but I can’t help but find myself wondering.  _

_ John did not betray us, I know that in the depths of my rotten soul as surely as I know anything. Whatever happened was not his fault, and I doubt he even knows he has been fingered for a traitor. I wouldn’t expect it if the situations were reversed, but then I don’t think I have it in me to leave like he did. Does that make me weak or strong? Dutch wants strength and faith and all manner of things, and I’ve given him all that and more for nearly my whole life, I’ve trusted him and followed him through everything that this world has thrown at us. That has to count for something, I know it does. Dutch said I was more than just his son, and he knows that he’s more than just a mentor to me, doesn’t he? He has to know I’d follow him anywhere, but would he step back and wait if I asked? Hosea would. Charles would. _

_ If I asked Charles to trust me, to follow me and stand behind me, I know he would, and I would do the same for him without a second thought. I’m lucky I have him, I don’t know how I’d have dealt with the past few weeks if not for him and his calming presence. I know I’ve made an ass of myself lately, but that ain’t so new. _

_ Maybe one day, when we’re free and clear of all this, we can settle somewhere together, maybe even just the two of us. Get ourselves a little house or something up in the woods or the mountains, away from people. Couple horses, maybe a few dogs. Maybe I can write to John then, make sure he’s okay and hasn’t got himself killed yet. Maybe I can see Jack again. _

_ But can I do any of those things if I don’t do something about this whole mess first? _

\---

He’d ended up camping that night at Horseshoe. Maybe he was too sentimental for his own good, but sleeping where his cot used to be and looking out over the memories of better times, he felt something in his heart shift and settle. 

He loved his family, he loved Dutch and Hosea, and he wouldn’t let them tear themselves apart. They were stronger together, always had been and always would be, and if they were too wrapped up in everything to see the forest for the trees then he’d have to be the one to try and settle things. It was unnerving, as he’d never tried to take on that role before, but if no one else would do it, naturally it would fall to him, right? He was the most senior member of the gang, had been with Dutch and Hosea the longest out of anyone, and if things were fraying it was his responsibility to try and bring it all back together. 

He just wished he knew how.

Saddling Beast back up at first light, he didn’t head back to Lemoyne right away. He wanted to see this part of the country again, more peacefully this time while not rushing through the roads like a bat out of Hell. 

Taking his time and avoiding Valentine, he made his way north to Cumberland Forest, letting Beast choose the pace and enjoying the stallion’s easy trot, watching birds and little forest critters dart all around, enjoying the way the cool wind rustled through the leaves and how the trees smelled. It was peaceful and calm, and as he got closer to Fort Wallace the bugle of an elk caught his attention. He pulled at the reins gently and looked around, taking out his binoculars to try and spot it. Elk were beautiful, powerful creatures that he liked rather a lot, and though he would never admit it to anybody he thought they were also pretty darn cute.

He paused as he finally spotted the creature. It was an elk alright, and it was  _ huge _ ... but not only that, its coat was pure white, shaggy all over and gorgeous. The antlers must have been at least twelve points, and it didn’t notice him, simply walking among the bushes and trees. In the sunlight it was nearly shimmering.

He quickly dismounted from Beast, crouching as he crept a little closer, still looking at it through the binoculars. Once he was maybe fifty feet away he stopped and put his binoculars away to quickly grab his journal and start drawing it. 

Sketching out it’s fuzzy coat and massive antlers, he admired the way it moved; quietly and powerfully, and he spent as long as he could on the wide, barrel-like body and smooth neck.

There was the rumble of a carriage not too far off, and it picked it’s head up just then, looking right at him and freezing in place. Arthur didn’t move either, staring at each other in stillness and silence, before it turned and darted away. 

He scribbled a word beneath his sketch before standing up and going back to his horse. 

_ Beautiful _

Maybe he should have shot it and taken it’s pelt - it would probably be worth quite a bit at the trapper - but something about coming across such a rare thing while it was simply existing out here, living peacefully and naturally, it seemed wrong to just kill it like that. He didn’t need to, either; the food situation in camp wasn’t dire and he wasn’t very close by anyway, dragging a bunch of meat through two entire states seemed like a bad idea, predators aside.

Something in him felt good about his decision and he gave Beast a gentle nudge as he continued down the road, soon crossing over into the eastern side of the Grizzlies and making his way over to Moonstone pond where he’d seen a cabin laid flat by a fallen tree. There didn’t appear to be anything or anyone in there, but it was interesting to look at anyway. O’Creagh’s Run wasn’t too far from here, where he and Hosea had fruitlessly gone after that massive monster of a bear. Things had seemed a bit simpler then, easier... What had been different?

Sean had been alive, for one. John, Abigail, and Jack were still with them. They hadn’t yet butchered two towns - three if one counted the mess in Strawberry - and Dutch was mostly as he had always been, normal. The idea of a normal Dutch was hard to conjure up, as nothing about that man was exactly normal, but that was part of who he was and Arthur found familiarity and ease in his constant charming abnormality. He knew Dutch as much as he knew anybody, and he would have thought that Dutch knew him as well... that Dutch knew John. 

The issue was Micah, it was impossible not to see. It may have been jealousy speaking, but that didn’t mean it also wasn’t true. The more time Dutch spent around Micah, the worse things seemed to be getting for everyone. He had no idea what he could do about that, but... maybe if he spoke with Dutch, he’d come to understand Arthur’s concerns? Sure, he hadn’t listened the past few times, but that might have been Arthur’s fault. He was never very good with his words - unlike Micah with his forked tongue - and a man like Dutch relied on words more than anything else. 

He camped out again that night at the base of the Three Sisters, hunting a rabbit for himself and cooking it with some herbs that helped settle the odd aching in his stomach. He spent most of his time thinking, trying to come up with what to say or the best way to say it, until he eventually decided that coming up with a script was bound to go wrong and come off as false. The best way for him to do it would be to simply walk up to the man and speak his mind, let him know flat out what he was thinking. Surely if Arthur was genuine and true, Dutch would be able to see that and take him seriously? He’d missed his chances to speak with Dutch about the other worries he’d had, the worries he should have spoken up about sooner. But this time... it  _ had  _ to work out, and he was going to do his best to make sure it did.

The next morning he packed up his bedroll and kicked dirt over the fire he’d made, knowing the time for clearing his head was probably up. He hadn’t even told anyone where he was going, not that it was unusual, but the circumstances lately were strained. Still, no doubt he’d have worried a few folks with the moods he’d been having, and then running off like he had... well, he figured he ought to head back today before anyone got too unhappy with him.

He kept Beast at a canter through most of New Hanover, letting him slow to a trot as they entered Lemoyne and then kicking him into a gallop through the last stretch of swamp before arriving at Shady Belle. 

“Who’s there?” Javier called from his position on watch, and as Arthur approached he saw how tense and on edge the younger man seemed. 

“It’s me.” Arthur returned, slowing Beast to a stop in front of him and rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders aching a bit with the ride.

“There you are! Where did you get off to this time?” Javier asked, but he seemed to relax if anything, which was a good sign that Arthur was probably not in too much trouble. Javier’s eyes darted back over to the house for a moment, before looking back at Arthur and lowering his voice. “Dutch wasn’t happy that you’d left, but there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it. I’d go talk to him before anyone else.”

Or maybe not.

“Sure, thanks.” He nodded his head and offered Javier a small smile, which at first seemed to surprise the man before he just smiled back. Arthur might have been worse to be around than he’d realized.

He hitched Beast up by the other horses, walking through camp and giving a few polite nods to the girls and Ms Grimshaw as he passed, and they all seemed a bit taken aback before returning his friendly gestures, Ms Grimshaw perhaps a bit more stern than the others but no less happy to see him, as long as he wasn’t in a biting mood. 

Arthur entered the house and went up the stairs, hesitating in front of Dutch’s door for a moment before he knocked and waited for a response. 

“Enter.” Dutch’s smooth voice called softly, and Arthur pushed it open and stepped inside. Dutch was standing at the glass doors to the balcony that ran around the upper half of the house and turned to look at Arthur as he entered. His eyes widened and he rushed over, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and looking him over, worry creasing his features. 

“Thank God, son. Thank God.” He put his hand on Arthur’s face, looking into his eyes as that worry melted into relief, and Arthur felt so terribly guilty he was nearly crushed with it.  _ This  _ was Dutch, this was the man who raised him and loved him, not the man who would snarl and snap and become someone Arthur couldn’t recognize. 

Of course Dutch would be upset if he’d worried about losing  _ two _ sons instead of just the one. And no matter his fears - rational or otherwise - on John’s betrayal, it didn’t mean he didn’t still love John, and it didn’t mean he suddenly didn’t care for Arthur.

“Sorry for runnin’ off.” Arthur mumbled, sheepishly shifting his gaze to the floor. “I jus’... needed to take a breather an’ clear my head, do some thinkin’.” 

Dutch dropped his hand from Arthur’s face, nodding at him and sighing heavily, turning back around to go look out the window as before. Arthur waited a moment before he walked up to stand behind him. 

“I know things haven’t been easy, son. Losing everyone we’ve lost... hasn’t been easy. I know that.” Dutch’s words sounded heavy and laced with pain, with grief, and Arthur stepped a little closer, almost reaching out to touch his shoulder but holding himself back, even if he didn’t know why. 

But this was the Dutch that he knew, and it was a reminder of how things  _ should _ be. Not the doubt and the fear and the blame, the almost paranoid behavior. This Dutch... he was burdened and he was human. This was who he needed to talk to, not the other Dutch.

“You’ve led us through worse.” Arthur said softly, meaning every word, and as Dutch turned around to look at him it gave him the courage to continue. “An’ I’ve followed you through it all. I always will. I always got your back, Dutch. I jus’... we’ve been makin’ a big mess’a things lately... an’ it ain’t that I don’t trust you or have faith. I jus’ worry that things is gettin’ a bit too big for us. I jus’ want everyone to be okay, and I wanna get outta this thing. But I’m...” He swallowed down the anxiety and shifted where he stood, boots scraping against the wooden floors. 

“I’m scared.”

Dutch watched Arthur carefully for a moment, looking at him as Arthur’s pulse started to beat a little faster in his chest. But he wouldn’t turn away from him, would let Dutch look right into his eyes and see how honest he was. It was like things were standing still and he couldn’t have said how long it went on before Dutch nodded, regret flashing over his face as he held Arthur’s shoulder again. 

“I’m sorry, son. I truly am. I... I know you’re behind me on this, but with everything I have to worry about, with all the people I’ve got to take care of... sometimes I think I get a little ahead of myself.” He spoke softly and slowly, open, and Arthur felt himself relax at those words. 

Maybe Dutch had actually meant what he’d said about John being free to go, but the panic of the moment had simply caught up to him?

“So you don’t think John betrayed us?” He checked, just to see, and he hoped Dutch would say he didn’t. But instead something seemed to shutter in his expression, and he took his hand away. 

“I don’t know. The timing is too perfect, and Micah had some good points about-”

“Micah don’t know shit.” Arthur spat, some of his own anger starting to rear up, and he fought to push it back down. “Dutch, Micah’s been with us for what, seven or eight months? What does he know about John that  _ you _ don’t? You raised him jus’ the same as you raised me, you an’ Hosea, an’ if you’re tellin’ me you don’t know he wouldn’t do somethin’ like that no matter  _ what _ , I’m  _ tellin’ you _ that it ain’t true an’ you  _ do _ know better’n that.” Arthur was breathing hard as he finished, but he felt mildly accomplished that he’d gotten all that out without raising his voice.

Dutch looked at him, those dark eyes of his sharp and soft at the same time, and Arthur shut his mouth with a click, for some reason feeling a tremor start in his fingers. He wasn’t afraid, but there was just some sort of nervous energy building inside him, starting in his stomach and making his breath feel too shallow. 

“You sound so much like Hosea.” Was what Dutch said, surprising Arthur with the wistful tone, though what Arthur’d expected to come out of his mouth he couldn’t say. “He told me something so similar... and he’s right. You’re both right, I...” Dutch trailed off, turning away to look back out over the camp. “I’m  _ trying _ , Arthur, to get us out of here, and I  _ need _ everyone to trust me if this is going to work. When we’ve got people running off it... it upsets the whole balance of it, don’t you  _ see _ ? Of  _ course  _ I know John wouldn’t choose to betray us, but if he gave us away, even unintentionally, well... it’s possible, isn’t it? And I  _ can’t  _ have that happening again. I can’t have this  _ failure _ dogging after us and picking us off when we’re weak.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what Dutch meant by any of that, but he hoped it meant Dutch agreed with him. He hoped it would be the last he’d hear about it, but there was something that told him not to hold his breath on that either. 

“I trust you, Dutch. Course I do.” Arthur muttered, and swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help us get outta here, but blamin’ people who ain’t even here to defend themselves, it jus’ don’t seem right. We... we jus’ gotta get through this, an’ then things’ll be good again, like they was, an’ we can-” Arthur suddenly shut his mouth, cutting himself off and going rigid. Dutch turned to look, brow quirked, and then they both raised to his hairline. 

“Arthur? Son, you look like you’re about to-”

He didn’t even get the chance to finish before Arthur was rushing out onto the balcony, leaning over the far edge and hurling his guts out. Luckily, this was not a section that sat above camp or was all that traveled beneath it, but people still turned to look at him. 

It was urgent and intense and left him gagging uselessly afterwards, feeling like he was sitting in the back of a particularly rocky carriage ride, a hot sweat breaking out over his back and beneath his arms, down his neck especially, and Dutch came over after a moment and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Alright there son?” He asked, sounding more than a bit bewildered, and Arthur wished he had any kind of answer. He just nodded instead, keeping his mouth firmly shut just in case. Slowly, he sank down to a crouch and pressed his forehead against the wooden beams of the railing, breathing tightly and trying to control this invasive nausea. 

It took a while, and by that time Hosea had come up from wherever he’d been and was standing next to Dutch, speaking to him quietly as they waited for Arthur to get himself under control. But eventually the nausea passed and Arthur let out a heavy breath, spitting to the side a few times before he stood up. Both Hosea and Dutch were looking at him, and he had no idea what to tell them. 

“Everything alright Arthur?” Hosea asked, and he nodded again, clearing his throat slightly. 

“Yeah... jus’, uh... probably ate somethin’ funny.” His excuse sounded weak to his own ears, and they just looked at him for a moment before Dutch sighed and shook his head. 

“Well, I wish I could give you some time to settle back in, but the riverboat poker game I told you about is happening at the end of the week, so I need you to go into the city and get yourself some proper attire... and a bath.” He looked Arthur over for a moment. “Trelawny should be waiting there for you at the hotel, but take someone else just in case.”

“Why not Charles?” Hosea suggested, and Arthur turned to him, the back of his neck hot as he nodded once again. He didn’t exactly trust himself to open his mouth at the moment.

Dutch smiled at Arthur then, patting his shoulder. “Things will get better soon, son. We’re almost there, and I will... think about what you’ve said.”

He wasn’t sure if it would have any effect, but at the very least he’d told Dutch his thoughts and hadn’t been turned away or called a traitor or any of the other worries he’d had about it. It wasn’t perfect, but Dutch was right; things would get better soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needed a rest, and despite how much I tried to have this chapter contain some action, he just refused. Hope he's doing okay. 
> 
> Also I tend to see Dutch as a person who is not wholly good or wholly evil. He's manipulative and he definitely talks circles around people on purpose, but he does love Arthur and his family, like... he's raised some of them. So of course does. I also think that when he's stressed out or panicked he just tends to lose sight of reality, and if it wasn't for Hosea it would be harder for him to get a grip.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, and the last bit of calm our boys are going to get for awhile. This chapter in particular starts a certain ball rolling that is going to be pivotal later on. 
> 
> Again, another massive thanks to everyone who's interacted with me on this, whether by kudos or comments or bookmarks. I got some AMAZING comments last week that really made me feel very good ;3; I preesh you all so hard.

Arthur had at least managed to get himself looking a little bit more human, changing his clothes and rinsing his mouth out with some water before he went outside, finding Charles behind the wagons chopping wood. He watched him, as was quickly becoming a habit, privately appreciating the steady strikes and the way Charle’s back moved with the downward swing of his axe, waiting until the man was done before he approached. 

“Hey.” He muttered, and Charles turned around to look at him, smiling softly, though he looked concerned and perhaps a bit hesitant. Arthur had definitely been a nightmare to be around, he was sure of that now.

“Hey. You okay?” He asked gently, voice soft. Arthur had no doubt that he was talking about the episode on the balcony, and just nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. Of course Charles had seen that.

“Yeah, jus’... well, it’s nothin’. I’m fine. But, uh, Dutch wants me to go into the city to get ready for this riverboat job, said I oughta take someone with me. You up for that?” He still somehow felt flustered asking Charles to come out with him like this, and maybe it was just the excitement of getting a chance to be alone with him or spend some time together making him feel a little too eager.

Charles just hummed, grabbing the bundle of chopped wood and hefting it over his shoulder. Arthur couldn’t help but watch those arms as the muscles flexed beneath his skin. Lord, Charles had big arms... the man’s wrists alone had to be nearly twice as thick as his own, and Arthur was  _ not _ a small man. Arthur could also think of something  _ else  _ of Charles’ that was thicker than his own...

“Sure Arthur, let me just drop this off and we can head out.” He said, smiling at Arthur in a way that made him feel as if his thoughts were entirely too see-through, and he couldn’t help feel a hot flush creeping over his face. But Charles didn’t leave so quickly. Instead, he came over and placed his free hand on Arthur’s hip, glancing around for a moment before he leaned in and whispered in his ear. 

“I missed you.” The smooth timbre of his low voice was pitched even lower in secrecy, and Arthur felt a little breathless with it. No one seemed to be looking back here, but they couldn’t linger like this for too long; while they were hidden from the house, they were not so hidden from the rest of camp, and a second later Charles had pulled away to walk off towards the cooking fire.

Arthur just stood there for a few beats, glancing around and clearing his throat, trying to get the redness in his face to ease just a bit before he went over to the horses. 

He began brushing Beast down from all the dust gathered during the ride back, feeding him an apple and some peppermints. Taima wandered over as she saw him, and he couldn’t help but smile at her, laughing a bit at her behavior. It seemed Charles had been right, and he  _ had _ accidentally spoiled the man’s horse. She stuck her nose in his bag to try and find some sweets of her own, and he gently pushed her velvety face away, grabbing some celery and a peppermint for her as well, stroking her face as she happily chewed and flicked her ears before trying to get some more.

“Hey, easy there.” He chuckled softly, pushing her face away again. “Don’t eat ‘em all now, or you ain’t gonna get any later.”

Charles came over after a few more minutes, not even commenting this time on Arthur’s actions and instead just rolling his eyes. They saddled up properly and headed off down the road, the ride to Saint Denis from here short enough that they didn’t need to rush to make good time. 

“So, is everything alright?” Charles broached after they had left the trees surrounding Shady Belle.

Arthur sighed softly, adjusting his hat and running his fingers along the feathers that had been worked into the beading Charles had done for him.

“Yeah. I jus’... well for one, I wanted a good night’s sleep.” He chewed his lip. “How’s he doin’ by the way - Kieran?”

Charles’ face turned a little more serious. “He’ll live. They’ve managed to keep it from getting infected and he seems to be starting to heal, but without an eye life’s going to be different for him. Micah said we should just cut him loose.”

“Course he did.” Arthur grumbled. “Micah’s been sayin’ a lot lately, from what I c’n figure. I reckon it was him what put that idea in Dutch’s head about John.”

“Most likely.” Charles agreed, looking at Arthur for a moment before turning back to the road. “He was trying to suggest that you’d run off as well, but no one was willing to believe that, even Dutch.”

Arthur’s hands tightened on his reins for a moment, anger flaring in the pit of his chest, but he knew better than to try and give it any room right now. “Bet he was, the bastard.” He shook his head and let out another sigh. “Things is jus’ hard right now for everyone, but we can make it through this s’long as we stick together and don’t go givin’ nobody any crazy ideas.”

Charles nodded slightly. “It seems like most of what Micah does is put ideas in Dutch’s head and make a nuisance of himself.” There was a moment of silence before Charles continued. “So what did you do out there for two days?”

“I did some thinkin’.” Arthur muttered, and then huffed humorlessly. “Before you say anythin’, I know, big moron like me don’t gotta do much’a that normally, right?”

“I wasn’t going to say that, Arthur.” Charles replied softly, looking at him. “Everyone needs time to think, you’re no different. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Arthur felt something like embarrassment and flattery prickle along his skin, and he just shrugged. “Yeah, well... either way...” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t had much time to... go through everythin’ that’s happened past couple’a weeks, an’ with Kieran soundin’ like he was dyin’ in the next room over, I couldn’t get any sleep, an’... I jus’ had a lot on my mind. Needed to get out and go somewhere else for a bit. Sorry I didn’t say nothin’ before I ran outta there like I did.”

“It’s alright, Arthur.” Charles assured him. “It’s good you got the time to yourself; it’s not really normal to have you in camp so long.”

“Yeah... but I understand why things gotta be the way they is for now, jus’ to make sure everyone stays safe.” He allowed, even if it really did get under his skin to spend days on end in camp. He liked sitting around all day about as much as he liked dealing with Bill; which was to say not very much at all, but he’d tolerate it when he had to.

“I know I been a right mess to deal with the past couple days as well... felt bad ‘bout snappin’ at people like I have been.” Arthur added after a moment, looking at Charles almost sheepishly. “Last thing I wanted to do was say somethin’ nasty to you.”

After a moment Charles looked at him, something soft in his expression. “I appreciate that thought, Arthur. But I can’t say I haven’t been a little... worried about you.”

“Yeah...” The outlaw ducked his head a little bit. “I... I dunno what’s goin’ on. A few days away cleared my head a bit, an’ I hope it stays like that but... ain’t just a temper I been fightin’ with. I... there been times the past week or so where I felt plumb crazy. Can’t really explain it all that much other than I think it might be the mess of everythin’ goin’ on. I always been a  _ little _ crazy, but...”

He could see Charles nodding slightly, but he wasn’t looking directly at him to know what expression he was making. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, it’s only human to need a break. But... maybe next time, you could... talk to me?” He ventured, and Charles sounded so uncharacteristically unsure and hesitant that Arthur lifted his head to look into his eyes, warm and deep and seeming quite young right now. But he  _ was  _ young, wasn’t he?

“I c’n... try that.” He nodded slowly, and he saw a bit of relief flit across Charles’ face, the way he held his shoulders loosening just a bit. 

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“I mean...” Arthur fumbled a bit with his words, his face heating up as he spoke. “We... we’re sweethearts now, ain’t we?”

Charles seemed a bit taken off guard by that and Arthur almost took it back and made some excuse for what he’d said, but Charles smiled widely and warmly, his own cheeks getting a bit pink, looking so nice with the dark tone of his skin.

“We are.”

Arthur smiled back, knowing he probably looked like a fool and not truly caring if he did. His chest felt warm and fluttery and he wished he could do more to show it. It had to be kept secret though, even if he was sure that Hosea at least suspected something. But they could smile and laugh and say sweet things when no one was around to hear them, and when they got the time and the space to be truly alone... they could do anything else they might want. When it was just them, Arthur didn’t feel the need to hide things, and he knew Charles felt the same.

The rest of the ride to Saint Denis was calm and easy, Arthur mentioning the beautiful white elk he’d seen and how he had thought about shooting it but decided not to, since he wasn’t about to use the entire thing. Charles seemed a bit touched by that, and told him what he’d done was  _ noble _ . Arthur wasn’t so sure about that, but it was nice to hear, anyway. 

Meeting up with Trelawny in the city was not an entirely enjoyable experience for Arthur. The man wanted him to cut his hair of all things, and told him he was lucky he wasn’t making him take a bath. But Arthur did not  _ want  _ his hair cut, and even if he knew this was a ridiculous hill to die on he was completely prepared to do just that. It had grown to just past his shoulders and he didn’t want to cut it and have to grow it out all over again. He’d let it get long in the past simply due to not having the time or the patience to deal with it, but he had never let it get this long before and he thought he sort of liked it this way.

Not to mention he loved it when Charles would run his fingers through the strands and play with it.

Charles only rolled his eyes at Arthur’s stubborn behavior, and together with Trelawny they managed to convince him to at least get the ends trimmed to neaten it up a little bit. After that it was shopping for a suit, even if he had a damn suit already that he’d gotten for the mayor’s party. But according to Trelawny, if he wore the same suit twice he’d look like a buffoon. Arthur thought owning more than one suit in the first place was far more buffoonish, and he didn’t mind telling Trelawny so. The Brit just sighed and muttered something under his breath about cowboys that Arthur didn’t care to pay attention to. 

Eventually they did manage to get all their shopping done, and Arthur let Trelawny handle taking the suit back to camp with him. He didn’t want to head back so soon, wanting to spend a bit more time with Charles if he could, so they decided to walk around the city a bit and try to see if there was any beauty in this place, but so far neither of them could really find it. They walked close to where the train station was, a big circle in the middle of the road for the trolley to turn around, and Arthur heard a man on the corner shouting something about purity and nature. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him and he was prepared to ignore it, until the man spotted him and Charles walking together and made some horrible noise about  _ inter-mingling _ , and Arthur didn’t even try to restrain himself as he marched over and socked that fool in the jaw hard enough to send him sprawling. 

There was a policeman not ten feet away, and when Arthur looked over the man just subtly tipped his hat and gave him a grateful and exhausted look. Seemed like nobody was really a fan of this racist piece of trash, on account of nobody caring that he was now taking a nap on the filthy sidewalk with a bruise blooming over his face. Good.

Charles made a quiet comment about defending his honor that got Arthur all flustered again. He didn’t think it was that, as much as it was his very limited patience with that sort of filth, but it made Charles happy so that was good enough for him.

As they walked past the big church near the southern part of the city, a pair of street urchins called out to him, apparently recognizing him from the time they’d robbed him.

“Hey, it’s the pig farmer again!” It was that little dark-haired boy who had tricked him, and Arthur’s brows furrowed slightly as he tried his best to ignore them.

“What’cha up to, mister? Lookin’ for the cheapest whore house?” 

“If he even  _ likes _ ladies!”

“Alright, that’s it!” Arthur was ready to go at them, but Charles just sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, steering him away as the boys laughed and jeered after them.

“They’re just children, Arthur.” Charles scolded lightly, but there was a secret amusement on his face that just made Arthur grumble and huff. 

“Bunch’a street rats, s’what they is. An’ I should know, I  _ was _ one.” He adjusted his hat and snorted derisively, and that only seemed to amuse Charles all the more. “Rotten kids.” He frowned, and let Charles lead him down a street, passing the theatre that Arthur suddenly realized he might have tickets for. He’d gotten some from that man at the party, and he wasn’t sure on the place, necessarily, but as far as he knew there was only one theatre here in the city that held live shows, the other one was something about pictures - he didn’t know.

He paused, reaching into his satchel and searching around as Charles waited next to him, watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What are you looking for?” He asked.

“Thought I had... hold on... know it’s somewhere...” Arthur muttered under his breath. He had a lot of candy wrappers in his bag, which was slightly embarrassing and also made it hard to find the two little slips of paper. 

“Ah, excuse me! Yes, you!” Someone called from further down the street, and Arthur blinked, looking up at Charles to see equal confusion on his face as well. They both turned to see who was shouting, and saw a group of three men, one of them white and two looking Native. One of the Native men seemed fairly young and the other much older, sparking a memory in Arthur’s head. Oh... these were the two that had helped him at the party during his... episode. 

He glanced at Charles for a moment before standing up straight and walking over, unsure what they might want and a bit surprised they’d recognized him.

“Hey, I uh, know you, right?” Arthur stopped a few steps away, looking at the white man in particular. He was the one who Arthur wasn’t sure he knew, but something about him was familiar at least. “Evelyn Miller?” He tried.

“Unfortunately so, Mr...?” He reached out for Arthur’s hand, once more depreciating himself, and Arthur took it out of habit and shook it with a firm grip that the writer did not return, his hold decidedly less steady.

“Ah... Arthur Morgan. At least sometimes.” He glanced at Charles, and then back to Miller. “This is Charles Smith, my... uh, friend.” Charles nodded in greeting to Miller, who returned a polite smile.

“Er, can I say something rude?” Miller began, and Arthur had no idea what it might be, and naturally the fear of being found out as an invert was there, but then Miller instead said something worse.

“The mayor thinks you robbed him.”

Arthur stiffened, eyes wide as he looked at Charles, both of them glancing all around as if expecting to see a bevy of lawmen suddenly appear out of thin air, but when that didn’t happen he turned back to Miller, who continued rather sheepishly.

“Oh, to be clear, he wasn’t very upset about it. He... rather liked you.” The man wrung his hands together and gave a weak little chuckle.

“Okay...” That wasn’t the usual response to being robbed, and it threw Arthur for a bit of a loop.

“Do you... well I mean to say,  _ can _ you steal things?” Miller probed carefully, watching the two of them.

Arthur cleared his throat a bit and switched his weight to his hip, arms crossed defensively. “Is there a reason you’re askin’ us to incriminate ourselves, Mr Miller?”

Miller looked between the two of them before indicating the men who had so far stayed silent and off to the side. “Well, I’m sorry, have you met? This is Rains Fall, a great chief, and his son Eagle Flies.” He introduced the two.

Arthur knew that they recognized him. He turned his head down slightly and hid his eyes beneath his hat, more than a little embarrassed at the memory of his behavior. “Gentlemen.” he mumbled.

“Yes, we’ve met.” Rains Fall said softly, and then perhaps because he was kind and knew that Arthur was ashamed, he gave a different answer to their meeting. “We saw you on the wagon train, crossing the river at Cumberland Falls. At the party you were upstairs.” He turned to Charles, taking in his appearance. “You were with them on the wagon.”

“I was.” Charles agreed, nodding slightly.

Rains Fall looked at Charles for a moment, and then gave a heavy sigh. “My people, if we are even a people anymore... we fought hard. We’ve made peace treaties, and those treaties were broken, and we’ve been moved and punished and...  _ punished _ and moved. Your friend here no doubt knows the atrocities committed against us.” He looked at Charles as he said that, though he was still speaking to Arthur. 

“Yes sir.” Charles softly muttered, and Arthur felt a little pang in his heart.

“And now, I am told we are to be moved again.” Rains Fall sounded tired, and Arthur could empathize. Moving and running and being hounded, even if his own situation was entirely the product of willful actions and not some... corruption, it was still exhausting. He couldn’t imagine being  _ innocent _ and still being chased.

“Clearly contravening the peace treaty signed three years ago.” Miller interjected.

“This will lead to war.” Eagle Flies spoke up, breaking away from the way he’d been staring at Charles to look sharply at Arthur.

“No, my son, it will not.” Rains Fall put his hand on his son’s shoulder in a move that reminded him of Hosea’s calming touches, and his chest twisted further. Rains Fall looked at him again, and Arthur had no idea how old he was, but in this moment he looked ancient. “We cannot fight another war. They have got stronger, and we have become far weaker, Mr Morgan.”

If things had been different, Arthur may have been unsure what to say, reluctant to lend his aid without approval from the gang or a promise of money, undecided on how much he should involve himself with this. But as things were... If Charles had imparted anything important through his thick skull, it would be that these things didn’t happen without a reason, and the reason was usually greed. If no one did anything to help these people they would become practically defenseless and would surely all die. Innocent people suffering for no reason other than the  _ appetites _ of men, as Dutch would put it.

“Why?” He asked, trying to get a clearer picture of what was going on and what they wanted him for. “What’s the point in doin’ all that to you?” 

“It’s to do with oil.” Miller supplied, and Charles scoffed angrily behind Arthur. “I know it is, but I need the proof. I believe there were some prospectors who were on their land a few months ago who have filed reports with Leviticus Cornwall and the state government, claiming huge reserves of oil under their land.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to scoff. Of course it was Cornwall, didn’t everything come back to him nowadays? And it seemed it wasn’t just them that the magnate was hunting; going after some innocent folk like this for some black gold, was he?

“So, you want us to try and steal it? The reports?” Arthur clarified, and Miller looked between him and Charles, before gesturing to Rains Fall and his son.

“Obviously they can’t, and... even more obviously, I would be useless.” He hesitated then. “Listen, I-I realize it is a ridiculous request, but we’re very desperate.”

“Well, I ain’t a do-gooder, Mr Miller... not usually. But...” He looked to the father and son, and then glanced back at Charles who was watching him with a hardened look in his eyes. He didn’t even need to ask if Charles would be willing to help; the answer was in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his mouth.

“We’ll help.” Arthur said, and something in Charles’ face lightened at hearing that. He placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed.

“We’ll pay you both very handsomely.” Rains Fall offered, but Arthur shook his head. Maybe it would be smarter to take the money, but it didn’t feel right to pick at the funds of these people like a vulture at a half-dead rabbit.

“No, that’s alright. We’ll be happy to do it.” Charles agreed with Arthur, and that felt good too. Rains Fall smiled tiredly and turned to his son. 

“I told you they were not all mercenaries.” He said softly to the young man before turning back to Arthur and Charles - who were usually very much so mercenaries. “Meet my son tomorrow near Citadel Rock, just west of the oil fields. We are very grateful for your help.”

“Gentlemen,” Miller spoke up, coming back from speaking to a man at the small door they’d been waiting by. “That appointment with the senator, we should head over there.”

Eagle Flies scoffed. “It’s a waste of our time and his.”

“No, we must try everything.” Rains Fall shook his head and gave a smile that was hardly more than fatigue. “Come along.”

And despite the bitterness he seemed to hold, the righteous anger, Eagle Flies deflated just a bit, nodding as well and walking after his father and Mr Miller.

Arthur and Charles stood there and watched them until they vanished around the corner, and then Charles turned Arthur to face him, looking at him with an indescribable expression in his eyes. 

“I could kiss you right now.”

Arthur spluttered and coughed, nearly choking on the force of the blush that erupted over his face, and he looked around quickly, but no one was around to hear them. They were still across the street from the police station though, so even if he could tell Charles wanted to say or do more, he refrained and instead dropped his hand from Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Come on, if they want us to meet Eagle Flies tomorrow we should probably head back to camp.” He started to move away, but Arthur threw all caution to the wind and reached out, grabbing Charles by the hand for just a moment to stop him, letting go just as fast.

“W-we ain’t gotta head back jus’ yet, right? I mean...” He looked further up the block at the theatre, and then back at Charles. “I got some tickets to a show... wanna go with me?”

Charles paused for a moment, and then smiled so softly that it made Arthur’s heart flutter. “Sure.” He replied, and then gave a little laugh. “Is that what you were looking for in your bag earlier?”

“Might’a been.” Arthur cleared his throat, but smiled back all the same - couldn’t stop himself really. Charles just laughed again. 

“I’ve never been taken on a date before.” He teased, apparently enjoying the way Arthur’s ears flamed red at that comment, and just continued laughed as Arthur smacked him on the arm and huffed, walking towards the corner and digging through his satchel to finally find the elusive tickets. 

“Yeah, well...” He mumbled. But he felt... good. Good about helping Rains Fall and good about spending time with Charles and good about maybe doing something that wasn’t entirely selfish and cruel. 

They’d help the tribe, and then in a few more days they’d take some rich folks’ money from a riverboat, and then after that maybe they’d have enough to get out of this damned swamp once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had the interaction between Charles, Arthur, Rains Fall, and Eagle Flies written out awhile ago, but wasn't sure where to put it until last week LOL
> 
> Next chapter is date night and chaos <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARTHUR DATE CHARTHUR DATE

The show had been excellent, and Arthur was more pleased with himself than he probably ought to be, but Charles had laughed and been just as impressed as he had by the magic act and the fire dancer. He might’ve laughed a bit more at Arthur than at the actual performers, but Arthur didn’t mind so much.

After that it had started to get dark, and Arthur had not so subtly asked Charles if they could find somewhere to eat instead of heading back right away. Charles just gave him an amused look, no doubt knowing exactly what Arthur was up to as they gathered their horses and made their way to the Bastille Hotel, finding a table and ordering some food. It was pretty fancy stuff, and fairly expensive for what Arthur thought it was. Lobster didn’t mean much to him, especially when lobsters themselves were just creepy pinchy mud bugs. It tasted good though, and as the meal drew to a close, Arthur very much didn’t want this to end yet. He made a show of looking at his clothes and the dirt under his fingernails.

“Maybe I oughta take a bath. You know... been out there campin’, probably could use one.” He glanced up at Charles, and even if he was trying very hard to be smooth he knew the younger man could see right through him. That, and the heat creeping up his neck was undoubtedly visible.

“What do you expect me to do while I wait for you?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow, and Arthur fought hard not to look away. 

“I dunno. Could... maybe see ‘bout gettin’ a room? S’pretty late an’ all.” The sun was barely down, and it was by no means too late to make the short ride back to Shady Belle. “Maybe we oughta...” He paused and cleared his throat. “Uh, stay here for the night ‘n head over to the Heartlands tomorrow from here? Ain’t much of a difference really, is there?”

“Suppose there isn’t.” Charles agreed, a little curl to his lips. Arthur just nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his feet slightly beneath the table before he stood up.

“Um... ‘m gonna go pay for the bath an’ the room, I’ll be right back.” He knew why his heart was beating so fast, even if he thought it was a bit silly at this point. While they’d only done this three other times, and only once in a hotel, it still filled him with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation that caused his palms to dampen and his heart to race. The feeling of doing something forbidden and wonderful, of knowing it was wrong in the eyes of everyone else but also knowing how good it felt to do it. A rush that was not all that dissimilar to a clean robbery from a particularly nasty mark.

He attempted to act as normal as possible as he put the money on the bar and got the room key in exchange, returning to Charles and handing it off in the crowded saloon, no one looking at him but the chance of being seen somehow making him feel a little exhilarated. It wasn’t as if he wanted to get caught, but it was always sort of fun to break the rules right in front of someone and have them be none the wiser. Maybe that was just Hosea rubbing off on him though.

Heading up the stairs first, he waited until the bath was prepared and then went in, cleaning himself as thoroughly and quickly as possible. He had actually needed a bath, judging by how murky the water turned, and it felt very nice to soak in the relaxing heat of it, but he didn’t want to take too long and finished in a relative hurry, hair still dripping as he made his way to the room. The door was unlocked and he quickly stepped inside and shut it behind him, flicking the lock and then turning around.

It was opulent and overdone, much like the rest of the Bastille, but what caught his attention more than anything else was Charles sitting on that big fancy bed, in nothing but his pants. His hair was draped over his naked shoulder and he was looking at Arthur with that burning expression, hunger and desire, and the sight of it all made Arthur’s mouth go dry. 

“Come here.” Charles muttered lowly, and Arthur obeyed without even thinking, walking forward to stand between Charles’ spread knees. The younger man reached up, sliding his hands up Arthur’s hips and unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt from the bottom, running his hands over Arthur’s stomach as it was bared and leaning in to place soft, warm kisses right below his belly button. Those dark eyes flicked up to his face, and he smiled against Arthur’s damp skin. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, and if Arthur was a woman he might have said he was swooning. It was all he could do to watch Charles, having no idea what sort of expression must be on his own face, totally enraptured by this man and everything he did. Lord, he was like a fantasy come to life, even if it was a fantasy that Arthur had never before even dared to dream.

Charles began to slowly undo Arthur’s pants, tugging them off the suspender hooks and down to his thighs, pulling out his half-hard cock and giving it a few firm strokes that made his breath hitch on a groan.

“You’ve had someone do this before, right?” Charles asked, and it took Arthur a moment longer than it should have to realize what the other man was asking. He swallowed and gave a short nod, breathing stuttering in his throat and not allowing any words to pass. That was all Charles needed though, and he grabbed the base of Arthur’s cock and trailed his tongue around the head.

Arthur whined, reaching up to bite his fist to try and keep quiet, but Charles was  _ merciless _ , and just began to lick him all over from root to tip, sucking on the side of his shaft and paying special attention to the skin right beneath the head of his dick. He got Arthur fully hard in moments, staring him right in the eyes as he parted his lips and slid Arthur’s cock into his mouth.

It took everything Arthur had not to buck into that warm heat, and he gripped to Charles’ shoulder to keep himself steady as the younger man started to suck, swirling his tongue and bobbing his head, watching him the entire time. 

Hot and smooth and wet, with Charles’ wicked tongue doing all manner of things, his lips sliding up and down, making Arthur’s thoughts turn hazy with how god damned good it was.

Arthur hadn’t been paying attention to the hand not holding his dick, but Charles’ fingers were suddenly between his legs, slicked up with something thick and running circles around his hole. He gasped and bit his lip hard, slowly spreading his feet apart as much as his pants would allow, giving eager permission. He hummed around Arthur’s cock, sending a vibrating pleasure through his shaft at the same time that he pressed a finger inside, and Arthur muffled the desperate noise that rose up in him as best as he could.

Charles groaned softly around Arthur’s cock, moving his finger in tandem with his mouth and quickly making Arthur breathless, panting and gasping and cutting off every sound that tried to escape him. He couldn’t help but rock his hips just a little bit, feeling himself start to throb against Charles’ tongue. 

“Ch-Charles...” He managed, voice tight. “I... Charles...” He was getting close, felt his climax starting to build in his gut, and Charles’ only response was to push another finger into him, working him faster and rougher, pushing him closer as he focused his tongue right around the tip of Arthur’s cock.

Both hands now grasping Charles’ broad shoulders, bottom lip held firmly between his teeth and eyes screwed shut, Arthur could do nothing to stop the whimpering moan that was dragged out of him, legs shaking where he stood as he shot his release into Charles’ waiting mouth, twitching tight around those fingers buried inside him.

Breathing hard and barely able to stand, Arthur watched Charles’s throat as he swallowed, felt him do it, and he made a choked noise as Charles pulled away, slipping his fingers out and looking up at Arthur with that hungry look again, now seeming to burn even hotter. 

“Get on the bed for me.” His voice sounded a little rough after all that, but it just made his words sound all the more like a growl. Charles wasn’t done with him yet, and Lord almighty, right now he’d take anything from the other man.

Arthur pulled his pants off all the way, managing to get onto the bed before his legs simply collapsed beneath him. He didn’t waste time, getting the rest of his clothes off as fast as he could, Charles watching and humming appreciatively. 

“On your knees, bend over.”

Arthur shivered, feeling far too hot, but he did as Charles told him and faced away from the younger man, burying his face in his arms as he stuck his ass up into the air. He heard Charles moving around and removing his pants, the sound of a small tin being set on the little table by the bed. 

Charles’ hands roaming over his hips, the man’s chest against his back and his lips against his ear. “Are you ready for me?” He asked softly, sweetly, even as Arthur felt his hard cock prod against his backside, just below his loosened hole.

Arthur hadn’t even recovered from what had just happened, but he nodded all the same, glancing back over his shoulder at Charles and finding himself completely and utterly taken with the look he wore. Charles was flushed, his lips were wet and red, his eyes so very dark. 

God, he was gorgeous.

Guiding his cock, all slicked up and ready, Charles went slow and took his time, letting Arthur adjust every few inches and running his hand over his hip and lower back, stopping only when he was flush against him. He held himself still and whispered sweet nothings to Arthur under his breath, waiting for the stretch to ease.

Whatever Charles was using made it slide in so much easier than gun oil, but it still took a few moments before the lingering discomfort began to fade away and he nodded. He felt Charles rumble a sound against his back and slowly start moving, gently starting to rock his hips in and out of him. It didn’t take long for it to start feeling  _ very  _ good, that hard pressure rubbing against his insides and filling him out, the drag and the slide, and Arthur pressed his face back into his arms to hide the noises he started to make.

“That’s it.” Charles breathed, kissing behind his ear, biting where his neck and shoulder met, holding him firmly by the waist. “So good for me, so pretty.” He straightened up, moving a little faster, rolling his hips into Arthur and making him grip those expensive sheets.

“ _ Hhn, ahh, aahn, _ ” Arthur tried to keep it down, he really did, but every movement brought a noise from him, his body already sensitive and hot from Charles’ mouth and fingers, and Charles knew just which strings to pull to get him like this.

“God, listen to you, the sounds you make.” Charles groaned reverently from above him, holding Arthur tightly and starting to pull him back against his thrusts, flesh hitting flesh, harder and deeper, spreading that nearly mind-numbing, tingling heat up and down his spine.

He was striking that hidden spot so perfectly, pressing against it each time he moved, each time he dragged Arthur back onto his cock, and Arthur found his back arching and his knees spreading without even meaning to, curses and prayers of helpless whines and cries falling from his lips.

“Yeah? Want me to go faster?” Charles was breathless and strained, and all it took was a gasp and a wordless plea for Charles to start pounding into him, shaking the bed and knocking the frame against the wall.

Arthur couldn’t form a coherent thought, everything getting all jumbled up in his head, all he could focus on was how he could feel every single inch of Charles rattling his bones and messing up his insides, changing the shape of him to fit around Charles so perfectly.

“Ch-Charles!” He made Arthur  _ scream _ , made his eyes water with the rough pleasure, and before he could stop it he was tensing and shuddering, spilling himself onto the bed between his legs, the sounds pulled from the depths of his body quivering and  _ loud _ . 

Charles cursed sharply, sucking a gasp through clenched teeth as he buried himself inside Arthur’s trembling body, pounding forward until his own pleasure peaked and he spent himself hot and thick inside.

“Oh  _ Christ, _ Arthur...” He groaned deeply, nearly collapsing as he rested his sweaty forehead against the back of Arthur’s shoulder, chest to back, both of them panting like dogs. They spent a long moment just like that, Arthur feeling floaty and hazy, and he could feel Charles starting to go soft inside him.

“Oh, sweet thing.” Charles breathed then, kissing his shoulder and the back of his neck, the spot behind his ear, starting to slowly rock his hips again for all the good it would do, but Arthur didn’t think he could take any more. 

“Charles...” He gasped, reaching back with a leaden arm to swat at Charles’ hip, every nerve in his body feeling like he’d just been shocked, tingles and twitches surging through him.

Charles was some sort of master at love-making, he had to be, because he’d not only made Arthur finish twice, but the second one had been purely from behind and like nothing else he’d ever felt, and he honestly thought he preferred it  _ much _ more. Certainly, he was more than willing to do it again, but... not just yet; he wasn’t as young as Charles.

“N-need a... se-second...” He managed, and Charles made a soft rumbling hum, sucking on his neck before he slowly pulled away, sliding out and causing them both to shudder. Arthur could feel the man’s spend leaking out a bit, and if it hadn’t been for how plumb exhausted he was he’d probably have the energy to feel embarrassed about that. Instead, he just rolled to the side, giving his knees and hips a much needed break from that position and closing his eyes, listening to Charles get up from the bed and move around the room.

He only realized he’d started to fall asleep when a touch to his backside woke him up and he startled slightly, looking down to see Charles with a cloth in his hand and a soft smile on his face, still rather flushed with his hair looking wild. 

“Hey. You alright?” Charles whispered, running the damp cloth between Arthur’s legs and cleaning off the mess he’d made. 

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but only gave a bit of a croak instead, needing to cough to clear the roughness from his throat. “Y-yeah... amazin’.” He gave an exhausted grin that had Charles shaking his head and laughing under his breath.

“I just wanted to check. We... I was a bit rough...” He looked sheepish.

“Ain’t gonna break me.” Arthur assured him, letting his eyes fall shut again as Charles moved away. “Hell... don’t think I ever felt so good... y-you sure know what you’re doin’.”

Charles laughed again as he settled into bed behind Arthur, curling around him and pressing his face into his neck. “I’m glad you think so.” He placed a few soft kisses there, running his hand gently over Arthur’s hip. 

“You’re really something, you know that?” Charles spoke up after a few minutes, drawing Arthur from the edge of sleep once again, but he didn’t mind so much. 

“Think I should be sayin’ that ‘bout you, Mr Smith.” He mumbled, placing his hand over Charles’ and threading their fingers together. They were both silent after that, Arthur smoothly drifting to sleep with warmth and peace and satisfaction layered over him, and the sturdy body of Charles securely behind.

\---

The next morning dawned earlier than either of them really wanted, but Charles was eager to get going since it was a bit of a ride to the Heartlands, dragging Arthur out of bed and noticing the way the older man was trying to hide the soreness in his hips and lower back.

He did feel a bit bad over how rough he’d been with Arthur the night before, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Arthur’s noises and his almost shy eagerness, coupled with how sweet it had been to have him suggest they get a room together... well, Charles was not immune to the outlaw’s rough charm, not by any means. And Arthur had seemed to like it very much, if his second orgasm had been any indication.

He was also more touched than he knew how to express that Arthur had agreed to help the tribe for no money at all, a kindness that not many would have given - especially a white man. Not that Arthur was just any white man, but Charles knew that Arthur didn’t know very much about the way the natives had been treated, learning most of what he did know from Charles himself. The fact that he’d taken all that Charles had said to heart and not simply brushed it off or given meaningless commiseration... It meant a lot.

Charles was also somewhat nervous, and he couldn’t exactly pin down why. Perhaps it had something to do with not really interacting with many other natives since his mother had been taken, wanting to make a good impression for reasons that were a bit too complex and elusive for this early in the morning.

The bartender gave Arthur a strange look as they walked down the stairs, Charles returning the key and pretending not to be flustered as the old man leveled the same look at him. He just gave a tight, polite smile and nodded his head, receiving a slower nod in return before he turned and left, walking out into the hazy morning light of Saint Denis.

He  _ loved _ the sounds Arthur made, but there was no denying he got pretty loud. It was incredibly endearing as far as Charles was concerned, but he knew that it could also cause some trouble if the wrong person were to hear and figure it out. It was the main reason Charles hadn’t dragged Arthur away while in camp to spend some time together, despite how much he knew they both wanted to. 

Hosea had made it clear to him, back when he’d taken Arthur up to Strawberry, that if anything happened to his son because of what the two of them were doing he’d hold Charles responsible, along with a few other warnings that would have been just as appropriate if the man had been holding a shotgun. Charles didn’t want to imagine the type of vengeance that the old man would wreak upon him should Arthur get hurt because of this, and it was the last thing he wanted to happen anyway. He knew the risks; the chance for lynching or simply the law catching wind of it and busting their door down. He supposed he should be grateful that Saint Denis was as hectic and busy as it was - most people probably couldn’t be bothered to raise trouble over this as long as they didn’t have to see it. A smaller town was far more likely to get the rope ready for them. Still, it did make him nervous, and he was happy to leave the city behind as Taima and Beast went at a steady trot, heading northwest on the muddy roads.

The muggy air cleared and cooled the longer they rode together, enjoying the peaceful scenery and happy in each other’s silence. Arthur never pressured him for conversation like some other members of the gang did sometimes, nor did he take Charles’ silence as some personal affront. Arthur seemed to enjoy the peace and quiet almost as much as he did, though he was also perhaps the easiest person to talk to that Charles had ever met. First coming off as gruff and callous, Charles now knew very well that Arthur just liked to consider his words before he spoke, and oftentimes struggled with them. He was far more thoughtful than he appeared, far kinder and softer than he could ever chance to show in most cases.

But going out and risking himself like this for a tribe of people he’d never met - had no obligation towards in any way, and not even asking for any money - it warmed Charles so very deeply. Maybe Arthur was only doing it because he knew it would matter to Charles, but that was still far more than anyone else had done for him.

“You like dogs?” Arthur asked abruptly, and Charles turned to look at him, watching the way the man seemed to be studying the sky instead of looking at Charles, and he gave a hum.

“Sure.” He replied, wondering where that had come from. 

“I mean... you ever wanted one?” Arthur clarified, and Charles had to think about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure why Arthur was asking, and it might not be for any reason in particular, but the question itself was a bit out of the blue.

“I haven’t really considered it before. Why?”

Arthur glanced at him for a moment, clearing his throat and shrugging. “Dunno. Jus’... well I had a dog when I was younger; Copper. I ever tell you ‘bout him?”

“I don’t think you have.” Arthur had in fact mentioned the dog in passing a few times, but if Arthur wanted to tell him about it, Charles wanted to hear it.

“He were a real good boy, had him when I was... oh, prob’ly ‘bout sixteen till I was twenty or so. John’d just come into the gang, only t’weren’t so much of a gang back then, not like now. He were this reedy ‘lil snot-nosed thing - John, not the dog.” Arthur laughed, and Charles gave a huff of amusement. 

“Anyway, Copper always liked to be around me, mopin’ when I had to go off an’ then jumpin’ all over me when I’d get back. Drove Miss Grimshaw crazy, gettin’ her all in a tizzy ‘bout dog hair an’ muddy paw prints all over me, but I don’t think she really minded all that much. But this one time, I go off for a few days longer’n normal, an’ when I come back I’m expectin’ Copper to come runnin’ like he always did. Only, he didn’t. So I go off lookin’ for him, an’ what do I find?” Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “Copper’s sleepin’ on top’a John, both of ‘em filthy as all get out, snoozin’ away ‘neath a tree. ‘Parently, accordin’ to Hosea, John’d tried to sneak into my things while I were out, an’ Copper’d come over and nipped him, so John bites him right back! An’ then after that they seemed to reach some  _ bestial _ understandin’ of one another and got along like two peas in a pod.” Arthur was laughing, bright and cheerful, and Charles was hard pressed not to laugh along with him. Arthur’s good moods were so infectious, and he looked so much younger when he wasn’t scowling or grumbling, a spark in those bright blue eyes that set Charles’ heart pounding.

“He sounds like he was a good dog.” Charles said as his chuckles slowed. 

“Yeah, he was. Cain’s good too, but I miss havin’ a dog of my own. S’why I was jus’... wonderin’ if you ever wanted one. Maybe...” Arthur turned a little pink, looking away again. “Maybe when, uh... we all settle down someplace... you an’ me could... get a dog or a puppy or somethin’?”

Charles was struck dumb for a moment, his stomach doing a little flip. Arthur was thinking about things like that? Thinking about settling down with Charles and doing something as utterly tender as getting a  _ puppy _ ? They may not be able to have children together, but as long as Charles wasn’t reading too much into this, Arthur seemed to want to get as close as he could.

_ God _ , Arthur was just so sweet.

“I think I’d like that.” He said softly, his smile and the fluttering in his heart making his face feel warm with delight.

Arthur turned back to him and seemed relieved, as if he’d been nervous about the answer, his own face pleasantly pink and his smile so very bashful. “Good.” He cleared his throat and turned back to the road.

And now Charles was laden with thoughts of the two of them finding some place to call their own, probably not too far from the rest of the gang, but perhaps a little house on the edge of a larger property for just the two of them. Arthur getting a dog, perhaps some more animals knowing him, being able to sit on a cosy little porch and relax together as they watched the sun rise and set... 

Was it ever a domestic dream - and not one that Charles had ever really considered for himself before, but he didn’t dislike the way it felt rolling around in his head. Dutch had promised family with the gang, after all, and if that wasn’t it then he didn’t know what could be.

\---

They arrived at the base of Citadel Rock as the sun was just barely beginning to make its descent towards the horizon, clouds covering the sky and creating long shadows in the rocks. The plains were a rather stunning vista, broken up by the ugly, stinking rise of the oil factory about a mile off from where Eagle Flies was waiting impatiently upon a ridge, crouching low with a pair of binoculars in his hand, a light colored paint horse standing placidly off to the side.

As he saw them approach, he lifted a hand in greeting and Charles returned it. 

“You came.” The young man sounded somewhere between relieved and surprised, and Arthur nodded, getting down from Beast’s tall saddle and coming to stand beside him, Charles doing the same.

“‘Course I came, said I would.” Arthur replied shortly, and Eagle Flies didn’t appear to care one way or the other for Arthur’s words, instead standing up and facing the two of them, getting straight into business.

“There’s a foreman, his name is Danbury. He has the files in the office above the refinery room.” He handed the binoculars to Arthur, who took them and began to give himself an idea of the layout of that eyesore. “It’s that window with the blind drawn up.”

“I see it.” Arthur muttered, brows furrowed slightly. Charles had gotten out his own pair of binoculars and could spot the little window as well. It looked to be in the middle of the compound, not very easy to get to undetected.

“If the files are as incriminating as we believe, Mr Cornwall’s men will destroy them if they know you’re coming.” Eagle Flies warned, looking at Charles and Arthur with a hardness to his eyes that spoke of his anger. Charles could understand it easily.

“We c’n sneak in easy enough-” Arthur began, but Charles shook his head. 

“Not with both of us. One, maybe, but two is bound to draw attention.” Arthur looked at him, and Charles could see the argument forming on his lips before the man even spoke, stubborn as he was. “Besides, if I go down there and we get caught, they’ll take one look at me and know the tribe had something to do with it. Best you go alone.”

There was little arguing with that logic, even if Arthur clearly wanted to. He pressed his lips together and huffed, before turning back to Eagle Flies.

“What will the files say?” He asked, sounding a bit more sour.

For his part, Eagle Flies didn’t seem phased at all by that interaction. “There’ll be a report from Leland Oil Development Company.”

Arthur nodded. “Any idea how I sneak into this place?” He took another look through his binoculars. There were guards posted at the entrances from what Charles had seen, and the walls were too high to climb over.

“You could crawl under the fence, or hide in a wagon. They keep rolling in.”

“I’ll go take a look.” He started to turn, but Charles put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“If there’s a problem, call for me.” He said softly, not very excited by the idea of sending Arthur in there by himself, but it just didn’t make sense to go together. At that point, Eagle Flies himself might as well come along for all the trouble it would bring.

Arthur looked up at him, and after a subtle glance over to Eagle Flies he nodded, expression softening. “Sure.”

As he started down the hill on foot, a wagon began rumbling down the road, and it was clear what Arthur was going to do. The wagon stopped at the train tracks that criss-crossed all over the area to let an engine pass, and Arthur took his chance to rush up as quietly as he could, climbing up inside and vanishing from sight into the back of it.

When the train passed, Charles watched the wagon drive onward, looking through his binoculars and swallowing down the sudden nervous lump in his throat. 

It was starting to rain, the clouds from before having thickened in the sky, and it made visibility fairly low, but Charles could still see the wagon stop at the entrance to the oil fields and the figure of a man approach the driver. His heart leapt into his throat, but the man didn’t inspect the wagon, and it ambled at a slower pace past the gate and out of sight entirely.

He let out a slow breath, hands gripping the binoculars tightly as he lowered them from his face, putting them away and catching Eagle Flies looking at him curiously.

“Charles, right?” He began, his tone a lot friendlier than when he had been speaking to Arthur. Charles just nodded, brushing his hair from where it was starting to stick to his face. 

“Why do you ride with a white man?” The young native asked, and Charles hummed slightly, turning back to look at the oil field and trying not to let his worry creep over him.

“I ride with a few of them.” He answered after a moment. “We are part of a larger group, but they’re not all white.”

“Yes, we saw you when you crossed the river. Where’s your tribe?” Eagle Flies pressed, and Charles looked at him again, seeing the way his young face was marked with scars and scowl lines. He was handsome, and seemed proud in a way that Charles himself felt too weary for, but he respected all the same.

“Gone.”

He didn’t need to say much more than that for Eagle Flies to understand, the younger man nodding slowly and turning to look out over the oil fields again. The rain was falling harder now, muffling the world around them, and Charles made sure to keep an ear out for any trouble and an eye on Beast. The loyal animal was sure to hear if his rider was in trouble before Charles could.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke up after a small measure of time, sounding sincere, and Charles nodded in acceptance. 

“It was a long time ago, and I’ve spent longer on my own than I ever did with them. There’s a lot... that I’ve forgotten.” He admitted, voice going softer.

In his dreams he could hear her sometimes; his mothers voice as she sang or hummed to him, telling him stories or teaching him phrases. He hadn’t been quite as young when she’d been taken as he had when the army had burned his village down, but even so it was over half a lifetime ago. He remembered all that he could, but with the painful memories as his only reminders, it was sometimes hard to think about it at all.

“Forcing us off our land, taking our children, withholding food and medicine... they have many ways to kill us that keep their hands clean in the eyes of the government.” The young man spoke up. “We could use capable warriors to defend our tribe.” He looked at Charles closely, regarding him with an appraising eye, judgemental but not unkind, and Charles felt a jolt in his heart. “We may not be your mother’s people, but you could find a place with us, if you wanted.”

The offer was altogether bewildering, incredibly tempting, and somewhat nerve-wracking. He wasn’t sure how to respond, a million thoughts and none flying through his head at once. To even be offered a place in a tribe, something he’d thought would be forever out of his reach, it hurt in a way that wasn’t altogether bad, pulled at a deeply protected part of him. But... he’d found a place already among the Van der Linde’s, and more than that, he wasn’t sure that offer would extend to Arthur, and he wasn’t about to leave him behind - not after everything.

The image of Arthur’s face as he asked Charles if he liked dogs, the thoughts he’d had earlier that day of settling down in some place with him, how much he was willing to risk and had  _ already _ risked by being with him in the first place... 

“I have... people who rely on me.” He muttered eventually, looking back to the oil fields and trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “It wouldn’t be fair if I were to leave.”

“If you change your mind, the offer will be there.” He relented, and Charles couldn’t tell if it made him grateful or grief-stricken to hear it. 

He was saved from saying anything else, however, when gunshots rang out, echoing through the rain and putting Charles’ heart on ice. Without even thinking, Charles was already climbing atop Taima and rushing down the hill towards the refinery, Eagle Flies not far behind, the pounding of hooves drowned out by the rushing of blood in Charles’ ears and the continued gunfire from the main building. 

“Wait!” Eagle Flies called out, pushing his horse to ride beside Taima. “We can’t rush in, they have too many men, we’ll be overwhelmed before we even reach him!”

“What other choice is there?!” Charles barked.

“We need to create a distraction first!” He reached into the saddlebag on his paint and pulled out a few sticks of dynamite, kept dry enough from the rain to still be usable. Eagle Flies pointed towards a tower off to the side of the refinery. 

“If we plant it there it’ll divide their attention, and then we can help him. Come on!” He pulled his horse along the outer edge of the fence, and Charles couldn’t deny that it was a much better plan than what Charles had been thinking; which was nothing. Pure panic had gripped him and he’d acted on instinct, with no thought, something he hadn’t done in such a long time.

“Calm.” He whispered to himself, knowing that taking the impulsive route wasn’t smart, knowing that Eagle Flies was right and they couldn’t just burst in and expect it to end well. If only his heart would listen to that as well and slow it’s jackrabbit pace.

They rode along the fence until they reached a gap, jumping from their horses and slipping through. It seemed that about half the guards had been drawn by the gunfire, and none were around to see them as they quickly snuck up to the base of the tower - some sort of oil rig - and planted a fair few sticks of dynamite. Quickly, so they didn’t lose it all to the rain, Charles struck a match along the rough wooden beams, lighting half the fuses before making a run for it towards a pile of bricks near the fenceline, ducking down just as the whole thing erupted with an ear shattering cacophony.

That seemed to draw out any guards who were not already engaged with Arthur, and Charles was only glad that he hadn’t simply rushed in as he’d attempted. He took down a man with a shotgun blast to the midsection, Eagle Flies taking down another with a precise shot from his bow, but three more took their place. The refinery was well defended and amply supplied with men and ammunition, and now that they were alerted to trouble there was no way Charles or Eagle Flies would have made it to the center of the complex where Arthur was without getting hit.

Though the continued gunfire from the other side of the refinery was both good and bad; good because it meant Arthur had not yet been killed, bad because it meant the chance for it was only increasing as the seconds ticked by.

But they couldn’t get to him right away, and in fact they couldn’t get very far at all from the blaze that was quickly consuming the tower and the surrounding structures. Guards kept coming, and soon enough Charles and Eagle Flies found themselves pinned under fire, only able to get a few shots in before they had to duck back down. The fire was raging, using the oil saturated earth to burn despite the torrent of rain that was falling, and Charles felt the heat of it drying the rainwater on his face and arms almost as fast as the drops fell.

He was growing desperate, seriously considering just how likely it was that he could get to Arthur if he made a break for it. Downing another two guards and trying to give himself an opening that just didn’t appear, he rushed to another spot of cover with his heart beating hard, breathing quickly with the surge of adrenaline through his veins. 

He had to trust in Arthur right now; Charles knew he was capable and downright frightening at times with his accuracy and speed, Charles knew he could handle himself and had gotten out of worse situations before. But the image of Arthur in that cornfield with a rope around his neck came unbidden into his head, death only prevented because Charles had been there. He thought about the image of Arthur, naked and terrified in the dirt, having escaped the O’Driscoll’s by some sort of Hell-spawned luck or perseverance, but surely he would have died if Charles and Hosea had not found him when they had. He thought about Arthur nearly in tears the night he’d spoken about his son after rescuing Jack, admitting secrets to Charles that burned on the way up and sat cold in Charles’ chest. Arthur looking at him with that gently shocked gratitude when he’d returned his hat to him, after spending weeks in secret working beads into the fraying old rope around the crown. Arthur after the first time he’d kissed him, or the second or the third. Arthur  _ trusting _ him-

Of course it only made sense that Arthur would choose that moment to come stumbling down the little incline right in front of him, firing off his revolver and knocking two approaching riders right off their horses with clean shots through the skull, riders that Charles had barely had time to notice.

“Arthur!” His name burst from Charles’ lips like a gasp of air and he ran from his cover towards the other man, grasping his elbow to steady him as Arthur struggled to stop his momentum. Charles wanted so badly to pull him close, but they didn’t have the time for that; more men were coming, and the fire was blazing hotter and higher. They needed to get out of there before they became trapped by either one.

“Come on.” Charles urged, starting to pull Arthur towards the hole in the fence, but Arthur hissed and stumbled behind him, causing Charles to stop and turn around. “What’s wrong?” 

“My damn ankle.” Arthur grit his teeth as he spoke, and Charles could see the way he held his leg; awkward and trying not to put his full weight on it. 

“What happened? Never mind, just-” Charles didn’t finish, simply looping his arm around Arthur’s midsection and half dragging him over to the fence, letting go to slip through and then reaching in and pulling Arthur out after him. 

Eagle Flies was already there with the horses and Beast had come down from the rise, the smart thing standing beside Taima with his ears held back. Charles didn’t bother to ask for permission, no time for that, and simply hefted Arthur up into the saddle and nearly got nipped for his trouble, but he just made sure Arthur wasn’t about to fall before getting onto Taima and kicking her off. 

The three of them rode as fast as they could over the dark and rocky terrain, not stopping until they were on the other side of Citadel Rock and it was clear no one was following them. Only then did Charles turn and take a good look at Arthur.

His face was tight and he had what looked to be a few cuts and scrapes, his knuckles were bloody, but more concerning was the way he had pulled his ankle from the stirrup, scowling at his boot as if it was particularly offensive. 

“What happened?” Charles asked again, now that they weren’t about to get shot or burnt to a crisp. 

Arthur pulled his hat off and ruffled his hair, sticking the beaten leather headwear on his saddle horn. “Everthin’ went fine, got into the office unnoticed, got the files from Danbury after some light  _ persuasion _ . But there were guards waitin’ outside the door, so I went out the window an’ slipped off’a the awnin’.” Arthur muttered, his tone clipped. “Didn’t land too good on my ankle... Fell right in front’a some more guards an’ didn’t even have time to run ‘fore they started shootin’.”

“You jumped off the roof.” Charles repeated blandly, his heart still racing and the tips of his fingers tingling with the leftover adrenaline that was starting to ebb. Arthur was here, he was fine, perhaps a little banged up but nothing too bad. It didn’t help the feeling of utter ineptitude that started to simmer beneath Charles’ breast.

“I slipped off the  _ awnin’ _ .” Arthur defended with a huff. “An’ what the Hell’d  _ you _ do? Blowin’ up a damn tower in a place filled with oil an’ kerosene? Why’d you go an’ do somethin’ like that?”

“Because you were getting shot at after jumping off a roof.” Charles knew that Arthur didn’t mean to antagonize him, but it felt like a slap in the face to have the other man try and scold him for saving his life - or trying to, anyway.

“I  _ slipped _ off-!”

Someone cleared their throat, cutting Arthur off at the start of what would surely have become a full-blown rant, and both of them snapped their heads over to look at Eagle Flies, sitting upon his horse and looking at the two of them with a heavy and considering gaze. 

“The documents?” He reminded sternly, and Charles felt a little embarrassed; he’d nearly forgotten the young man was even there. Arthur too, for his part, seemed a bit sheepish as he nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a bundle of files in a neat little folder and handing it over.

“Thank you. I hope... well, I don’t know what I hope, but maybe these will be of use.” Eagle Flies tucked the file protectively into his shirt and gave Arthur a short nod, before glancing over at Charles. “Think about what I said.” And with one last look at the burning oil fields, he turned his horse and rode off. 

The two of them sat there for a moment longer, Charles entirely unsure what to say now and it didn’t appear as if Arthur had any ideas either. 

Arthur clicked Beast into a quick canter and Charles kicked Taima to keep pace. The moonlight spilled easily over the open plains, and the shadows from the surrounding cliffs and rises created spots that looked almost like they could be pits opening up in the ground, abyssal and dark. It was such a wild juxtaposition to the chaos not fifteen minutes before that it rattled Charles just a bit.

The silence was perhaps the first between them that had felt weighted and thick, and it was also one of the very few times in his life he could remember wanting to say something just to fill it. 

“I’m glad you’re alright.” He tried, looking at Arthur out of the corner of his eye and seeing how stiff the man’s posture was, hunched slightly with his head tilted down, hat replaced upon his head to block his face from the rain and from Charles’ gaze.

“‘Course I am.” Arthur replied, voice low and gruff, and that hardly helped the feeling in Charles’ gut. He’d been worried - for good reason in his opinion - and Arthur was acting as if he was a nuisance. He knew Arthur was stubborn and prided himself on self-reliance, but this was ridiculous. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” He challenged, tone turning hard, and he could see how Arthur twitched at hearing it. 

“Well what d’you want me to say?” The older outlaw shot back, clearly frustrated.

“Well maybe I’d like to hear why you’re acting as if you’re angry with me for trying to save your life.” Charles snapped, and Arthur did turn to look at him now, eyes widening a bit. It wasn’t like him to express anger, though he hadn’t exactly shied away from it in the past, but this was not a poacher or Micah or any of the other stupid shit he’d dealt with. This was Arthur, pretending as if everything had gone fine when it so very much hadn’t.

“I-I ain’t mad at you!” Arthur stammered, hands tightening on his reins. “I’m... I’m mad at  _ myself _ .” He ducked his head again and Charles saw the way his throat worked as he swallowed, how the muscles in his jaw tensed for a moment.

A moment of silence passed, and Charles took it to try and calm down enough to keep his voice level. He suspected that if Arthur felt pressured right now, he’d lose the tenuous grip he was keeping on his temper. 

“I was worried. It’s not that I think you can’t handle yourself, but there were a lot of men in there, and a lot could have gone wrong. I didn’t want you to...” He trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh and watching the moon glowing through the thick clouds overhead.

“S’why I’m mad.” Arthur mumbled, admitting this like pulling teeth. “Should’a been a simple thing, but I messed it up an’ made a big ruckus, an’ you had to come in with Eagle Flies... if they saw you, they’ll know it was the tribe. Probably jus’ gonna make things worse ‘cus I can’t do nothin’ right.”

“Arthur...” Charles sighed again, shaking his head. What could he say to him? He’d been scared for him - scared of losing him. It was the fear he’d felt when Arthur had been strangled in that cornfield, only worse now, stronger for all that they’d been through together. He knew Arthur better than he’d known him then, and it just made it all the more terrifying to think about his death.

But he didn’t feel as if he could say that to him now, not with how angry he seemed and how Charles was sure he’d take it wrong.

It wasn’t as if he thought Arthur was incompetant or stupid, far from it. It was merely... mistakes happened. People got killed all the time no matter how good a shot they were, and living outside the law for most of his life, with the bounty on his head that Arthur had... 

Charles had known that letting people close would end up hurting - that if they left or died it would sting far too much, but it was too late to take anything back now. Arthur had made his home firmly in Charles’ heart and he knew that there was nothing he could do to change that.

One day, someone might get lucky and Arthur might wind up on the end of a rope. The thought terrified him far too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a cold =n= boo. So anyway, here's some more PORN and also some interaction between Charles and Eagle Flies. I love them and want them to be friends, and I'm trying to figure out how best to naturally form that relationship since we never see it in game. Please let me know your opinions about it, and how you think it's going :3
> 
> Also, I really do think that Arthur is so stubborn and spiny about things that he wouldn't be able to help himself and he'd get into arguments with the people he cared about if he felt he was inconveniencing them. Like, we see so many similarities between John and Arthur as John gets older, and I think like most brothers, they're so similar that they can't stand each other lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudo's are very much appreciated!


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